;-NRLF 


SIERRAS 


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70*-> 


AN   EDELWEISS   OF  THE 
SIERRAS,GOLDEN-ROD 
AND   OTHER  TALES.     BY 
MRS.   BURTON    HARRISON 


HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  PUBLISHERS 
<s*    NEW  YORK  -  MDCCCXCII    <4a 


Copyright,  1892,  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS. 

jlU  rights  reserved. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

AN  EDELWEISS  OF  THE  SIERRAS 3 

GOLDEN -ROD  :   AN  IDYL  OF  MOUNT  DESERT.     27 

UNDER  THE  CONVENT  WALL 135 

CHERRYCOTE 147 

THE  SHATTERED  VIOLIN 163 

A  HOUSE  BUILT  UPON  THE  SAND 173 

ON  A  HILL -TOP 197 


942209 


AN   EDELWEISS  OF   THE    SIERRAS 


AN   EDELWEISS  OF  THE  SIERRAS 


i 


LUCY  BOYNTON  lived  a  solitary  life  in  a  gray  old 
minster  town  in  England.  She  was  an  orphan,  in 
charge  of  a  venerable  maiden  aunt  who,  like  the 
celebrated  "  Mrs.  F."  of  Hood's  ballad,  was 

"  so  very  deaf 

She  might  have  worn  a  percussion-cap, 
And  be  hit  on  the  head  without  hearing  it  snap." 

From  spring  to  autumn,  from  autumn  to  spring, 
Lucy  sat  and  sewed,  dusted  the  tea-cups  on  the 
mantel-shelf,  read  a  few  dull  books,  and  accom 
panied  her  aunt  to  service  whence  the  morning 
and  evening  chants  floated  in  at  the  window  of 
their  sitting-room  close  to  the  cathedral  walls. 
Not  so  much  as  the  Vicar  of  Wakefield's  excite 
ment  "to  migrate  from  the  blue  bed  to  the  brown" 
was  allotted  her ;  for  ever  since  she  could  remem 
ber,  Lucy  had  occupied  the  same  still,  white-cur 
tained  nest,  opening  from  Miss  Boynton's  bedroom, 


4  AN   EDELWEISS   OF  THE  SIERRAS 

where  at  night  she  could  peep  out  to  supervise  the 
removal  of  a  certain  glossy,  ink-black  frontispiece 
of  hair,  and  the  assumption  of  a  frilled  coif,  con 
verting  the  old  lady's  strong  aquiline  profile  into 
a  grim  silhouette  of  some  warrior  of  ancient  Greece 
or  Rome. 

Into  this  colorless  existence,  when  Lucy  was 
about  eighteen,  there  came  an  influence  potent  and 
mysterious,  as  if  a  waft  of  jasmine  scent  were  blown 
across  some  meadow  nook  where  homely  butter 
cups  are  springing  in  the  grass. 

Miss  Boynton's  nephew,  Tom  Boynton,  of  whom 
his  few  scattered  kinspeople  had  heard  nothing  for 
several  years,  arrived  from  the  other  side  of  the 
Atlantic  to  look  up  those  of  his  blood  remaining 
to  him  in  England.  He  was  a  handsome,  active 
young  fellow,  with  a  jaunty  grace  of  carriage  and 
a  timbre  in  his  hearty  voice,  irresistibly  compelling 
a  return  of  cordiality,  be  the  recipient  never  so 
guarded  in  his  dignity. 

Innocent  Lucy,  herself  perhaps  not  quite  up  to 
the  standard  of  dignity  at  St.  Margaret's  in  gen 
eral,  fell  in  love  with  him  frankly  at  the  outset, 
while  Tom,  who  began  by  finding  no  end  of  pleasure 
in  telling  his  traveller's  tales  to  this  dear  little  wide- 
eyed  creature,  growing  white  and  red  alternately 
with  his  perils  and  escapes,  ended  by  picking  her 
up  in  his  arms  one  day,  and  vowing  he  must  have 
her  for  his  wife — her  or  no  woman,  present  or  to 
come.  That  rough  wooings  speed  cheerily  some 
times,  witness  King  Harry  the  Fifth,  or  the  son  of 


AN   EDELWEISS  OF  THE  SIERRAS  5 

"  those  fierce  Vikings  out  of  the  dark  Northeast," 
Hereward  the  Wake. 

The  staid  atmosphere  of  St.  Margaret's  not  hav 
ing  proved  favorable  to  the  growth  of  feminine 
coquetries,  Lucy,  trembling  a  little  and  blushing  a 
great  deal,  but  strong  in  trust,  plighted  him  her 
troth. 

Unlike  the  members  of  his  adopted  brotherhood 
in  the  New  World,  Tom  Boynton  never  "cal 
culated."  He  was  quite  unprepared  for  the  effect 
of  this  news  upon  poor  old  Miss  Boynton,  who  re 
ceived  his  triumphant  announcement  with  a  sort  of 
tearless  grief  peculiar  to  age,  and  most  appealing 
to  the  stalwart  mountaineer.  He  realized  that  to 
take  Lucy  away  from  her  would  be  like  tearing  the 
ivy  from  a  mouldering  wall.  To  remain  in  England, 
as  his  aunt  pleadingly  suggested,  partly  dependent 
upon  her  slender  means,  until  an  opening  in  busi 
ness  could  be  found  for  him,  was  a  thought  impos 
sible  to  entertain.  Tom's  heart  went  out  with  a 
mighty  yearning  towards  the  wonderful  hill  country 
left  behind,  and  the  prospect  of  speedy  wealth  it 
held  out  to  a  strong,  capable  fellow  like  himself. 

For  a  time  he  was  in  a  pitiful  state  of  irresolu 
tion.  One  clay  in  spring,  when  golden  laburnums 
and  sweet  lilies-of-the-valley  were  coming  out  in 
the  sunshine  of  the  prim  little  garden  behind  the 
house,  Tom  strode  up  and  down  the  walk,  con 
sumed  with  restlessness.  Catching  sight  of  Lucy's 
brown  head  at  the  window  of  the  room  where  she 
sat  sewing  in  a  frame  of  ivy  leaves,  he  asked  her 


6  AN    EDELWEISS   OF   THE   SIERRAS 

to  put  down  her  seam  and  come  for  a  walk  with 
him. 

They  reached  a  point  beyond  the  town,  where 
Lucy  seated  herself  upon  a  bank  of  rich  grass 
"with  daisies  pied,"  such  as  only  England  can  pro 
duce.  Looking  down  the  vista  of  a  bowery  lane, 
they  saw  the  minster  tower  rise  ivy-wreathed  against 
a  tranquil  sky,  gray  chimneys  and  moss-grown  roofs 
clustering  about  it,  half  hidden  from  sight  by  ven 
erable  trees.  A  shining  river  ran  through  mead 
ows  of  greenest  turf.  Everywhere  the  eye  plunged 
into  a  mass  of  unequalled  verdure.  All  was  calm, 
hushed,  locked  in  a  deep  repose.  Here  was  old 
England  garnering  in  her  centuries  of  well-earned 
peace.  Here,  nearer  still,  was  Lucy,  her  candid 
eyes  fixed  trustfully  on  his. 

Just  then  the  sun  at  setting  painted  the  heavens 
with  a  glory  unspeakable.  It  was  as  if  his  own 
Golden  Gate  had  opened  suddenly  before  him,  and 
Tom  sprang  to  his  feet,  the  fire  of  "  Westward  Ho!" 
thrilling  in  his  veins. 

"  Lucy,"  he  cried,  crushing  her  hands  in  his  vig 
orous  grasp — "  dear,  darling  Lucy,  it  is  an  awful 
wrench,  but  I  must  go.  It  is  only  for  a  while,  never 
fear ;  for  while  grass  grows  and  water  runs  I'll  be 
true  to  you,  my  lass.  I  am  going  to  work  for  for 
tune  now  as  I  never  did  before.  God  bless  your 
dear  little  soul,  if  there's  gold  to  be  had,  I'll  have 
it.  Will  you  wait  for  me,  Lucy?" 

"  I'll  wait,  Tom,"  she  answered,  simply. 

"  There  is  one  thing  you  have  never  looked  at, 


AN   EDELWEISS   OF  THE   SIERRAS  7 

my  dear,"  said  Tom,  after  a  long  talk  over  their 
plans.  "  It  is  just  possible  that  you  may  be  left 
alone  in  the  world  at  a  time  when  I  can't  get  away 
to  come  for  you.  I  am  haunted  by  the  fear.  It 
drives  me  to  proposing  what  I  might  not  have  dared 
to  ask  for  otherwise.  As  my  sweetheart,  Lucy,  you 
could  not  sail  around  the  globe  to  come  to  me  ; 
but  if  you  love  me  well  enough  to  marry  me  now, 
before  I  go,  and  let  me  leave  you  the  protection  of 
my  name,  you  can  take  ship  at  any  time  for  New 
York,  and  from  there  take  another  to  San  Fran 
cisco,  where  I  will  meet  my  wife,  and  carry  her  off 
to  my  den  in  the  mountains,  like  a  great  ogre  as  I 
am.  Think  twice,  Lucy,  before  you  say  yes.  It 
will  be  a  long  voyage  for  you,  poor  little  waif,  and 
a  wild  life  after  you  get  there  :  only — God  forget 
me,  Lucy,  if  I  ever  cease  to  love  and  cherish  you  as 
the  apple  of  my  eye  !" 

"  I  will  do  what  you  ask,  Tom,"  Lucy  said,  like 
the  creature  of  a  dream. 

Two  years  passed,  and  all  that  Lucy  had  to  re 
mind  her  of  the  strange  vows  she  had  taken  were 
the  little  gold  wedding  ring  he  had  squeezed  upon 
her  finger  in  the  shadow  of  the  old  minster  altar, 
another  circlet  hammered  out  of  virgin  Californian 
gold,  and  imprisoning  a  great  sparkling  diamond, 
sent  after  Tom's  arrival  in  San  Francisco,  and  the 
letters  glowing  with  love  and  pride  that  came  to 
her  by  every  mail.  Tom  was  now  engineer  in 
charge  of  a  famous  new  mine  up  under  the  snow- 


8  AN   EDELWEISS   OF   THE   SIERRAS 

peaks  of  the  sierras,  working  hard  and  cheerily. 
Miss  Boynton's  little  house  overflowed  with  In 
dian,  Mexican,  and  Chinese  curiosities,  quaint 
souvenirs  of  the  far  Pacific  coast,  and  Lucy  might 
have  walked  in  silk  attire  had  she  chosen  to  as 
sume  the  "  marrowy  shawls  of  China  crape,  like 
wrinkled  skins  on  scalded  milk,"  and  their  com 
panion  rolls  of  stuff,  that  Tom  showered  upon  the 
two  ladies  from  time  to  time. 

Thus  Lucy's  even  life  ebbed  on  under  the  ivy- 
covered  walls  that  bounded  it. 

When  the  day  came  that  poor  old  Miss  Boynton 
entered  into  everlasting  rest,  Lucy  was  bewildered 
by  her  sudden  freedom,  and  the  stirring  change  it 
entailed.  She  was  an  Englishwoman,  however, 
which  means  one  capable  of  arising  to  any  emer 
gency;  and  when  the  answer  to  the  letter  announc 
ing  her  aunt's  death  to  Tom  arrived,  it  found  her 
quite  ready  to  obey  its  loving  behest,  and  to  set 
forth  alone  upon  the  two  long  voyages.  Tom,  who 
was  chained  to  his  post  just  then,  awaited  her  with 
open  arms. 

Westward  she  journeyed  bravely  through  Atlantic 
storms ;  then  southward  to  the  languid  torpor  of  the 
tropic  seas,  and  across  the  Isthmus  to  the  calm  Pa 
cific.  When  at  length  the  steamer  passed  through 
the  Golden  Gate  into  the  broad  land-locked  harbor 
of  San  Francisco,  Lucy's  heart  beat  high  with  ex 
pectation.  Enough  of  her  story  had  become  known 
to  her  fellow-voyagers  to  create  in  them  a  feeling  of 


AN  EDELWEISS  OF  THE  SIERRAS  9 

active  sympathy  in  the  expected  reunion  with  her 
husband.  Something  very  like  a  groan  at  his  ex 
pense  arose  from  Lucy's  adherents  when  among  all 
the  motley  groups  of  Calif ornians,  native  and  im 
ported,  assembled  to  greet  the  arrival  of  the  ship, 
no  trace  appeared  of  the  recreant  Tom.  Under 
the  inspiration  of  Calif ornian  air,  it  is  barely  pos 
sible  that  Mrs.  Boynton's  zealous  friends  might  at 
that  point  have  been  led  to  visit  with  prompt  ven 
geance  a  laggard  appearance  of  the  missing  man. 
If  the  quiver  of  Lucy's  lip  and  her  blanching 
cheek  thus  affected  them,  what  would  have  been 
the  result  of  witnessing  the  bitter,  inconsolable 
burst  of  tears  with  which  she  shut  herself  in  her 
state-room  till  the  first  disappointment  was  spent ! 
By  the  captain's  advice,  and  under  charge  of 
respectable  people,  Lucy  betook  herself  to  a  hotel, 
pending  the  arrival  of  tidings  from  her  husband. 
It  was  evident  that  the  letter  announcing  her  com 
ing,  a  date  rendered  previously  uncertain  by  the 
settlement  of  her  small  business  affairs  in  England, 
had  miscarried.  Her  good  friend  the  captain  found 
for  her  a  special  opportunity  to  send  a  letter  on  to 
Tom  without  delay;  and,  Lucy's  courage  rising  with 
renewed  hope,  she  determined,  after  a  day  of  rest, 
to  take  stage  for  the  station  nearest  the  mining 
camp,  and  there  await  his  coining.  The  captain,  who 
saw  to  all  her  arrangements  and  put  her  in  the  stage, 
watched  her  departure  with  glistening  eyes.  Lucy 
leaned  out  to  wave  her  hand  to  him,  "with  a  smile 
like  an  angel's,"  the  old  man  afterwards  declared. 


10  AN    EDELWEISS   OF   THE   SIERRAS 

During  the  first  part  of  that  long  journey  by 
stage  Lucy  knew  not  fatigue,  so  astonished  and  ex 
cited  was  she  by  the  New -World  glories.  The 
early  spring  had  broken  up  the  gentle  undulations 
of  field  and  plain  with  countless  flowering  plants, 
whose  fragrant  breath  perfumed  the  air.  Far  as 
the  eye  could  reach  in  this  wonderfully  clarified 
atmosphere  were  vineyard-clad  slopes,  prosperous 
ranches,  meadows  dotted  with  patriarchal  flocks 
and  herds,  and  watered  by  crystal  rivers.  Above 
hung  cliffs  crowned  with  a  dark  continuous  zone  of 
pines,  cutting  off  the  flower-enamelled  paradise  be 
low  from  the  snow-shrouded  crests  of  the  sierras — 
"  Tom's  mountains,"  the  foolish  child  called  those 
grand  untrodden  summits.  Lucy's  insular  reserve, 
her  fears,  her  scruples,  melted  into  the  gladness  of 
a  child  butterfly-hunting  under  a  summer  sun  ;  her 
"heart  clothed  itself  with  love." 

Something  of  her  early  exhilaration,  but  none  of 
her  patient  courage,  had  worn  away,  when  the  un 
wonted  fatigue  of  two  days  and  a  night  of  stage- 
riding  took  possession  of  Lucy's  exhausted  frame. 
A  rough  woman,  her  comrade  during  the  greater 
part  of  the  journey,  had,  to  Lucy's  unqualified  de 
spair,  been  left  at  the  station  before  the  terminus. 
She  was  alone  now  with  half  a  dozen  men,  who 
surveyed  her  with  curious  but  not  irreverent  eyes. 

Jerry,  the  soft-voiced  stage-driver,  reined  in  his 
six  magnificent  horses  with  the  same  professional 
calm  exhibited  frequently  during  the  journey  in  driv 
ing  them  at  full  gallop  along  the  edge  of  a  precipice. 


AN    EDELWEISS   OF   THE   SIERRAS  II 

The  stage  halted  before  the  rude  veranda  of  a 
desolate  two-story  building,  with  a  little  colony  of 
out-houses  to  correspond,  over  which  was  proudly 
inscribed  the  word  "  Hotel."  Lucy,  almost  unable 
to  walk,  was  half  carried  across  the  threshold. 
The  other  passengers,  travel -soiled  as  they  were, 
rushed  by  her  like  so  many  cannon-balls  into  the 
open  door- way  of  a  supper- room,  before  which  a 
stolid  Chinaman  promenaded  back  and  forth  ring 
ing  a  resonant  bell. 

Making  his  obeisance  to  Lucy  in  the  smoky,  oil- 
reeking  atmosphere  of  this  sitting-room,  bar,  and 
office  combined,  stood  the  proprietor,  a  hopelessly 
seedy  Don  Quixote,  with  a  smack  of  former  gentil 
ity  in  his  drawling  tones. 

"  I  am  the  wife  of  Mr.  Boynton,  of  the  Hum- 
boldt  Mine,"  Lucy  managed  to  say,  with  quiet  dig 
nity.  "  I  have  every  reason  to  hope  that  my  hus 
band  will  meet  me  here  very  shortly,  and  I  must 
beg  you  to  give  me  a  room  at  once  where  I  may 
rest  until  he  comes." 

Although  profuse  in  civilities  upon  t]ie  discovery 
that  his  guest  was  the  "  colonel's  lady,"  as  he  chose, 
to  Lucy's  amusement,  to  style  her,  Don  Quixote 
looked  a  trifle  blank  at  the  mention  of  a  room. 
Going  off  for  a  moment  into  the  supper-room,  he 
quickly  reappeared  with  the  beaming  announcement, 
made  in  the  style  of  a  provincial  theatre  manager, 
that  "  in  order  to  accommodate  Mrs.  Colonel  Boyn 
ton,  Jedge  Tompkins  had  kindly  consented  to  dou 
ble  up  with  General  Snyder  for  the  night." 


12  AN    EDELWEISS    OF    THE    SIERRAS. 

Lucy's  strength  only  sufficed  her  to  ascend  to 
the  rude  room  proffered  by  that  distinguished  citi 
zen,  Jedge  Tompkins,  and  there  to  request  a  cup 
of  tea.  This  awful  beverage  was  served  to  her 
presently  by  the  stolid  Chinaman,  who  took  the 
opportunity  to  remove  a  box  of  paper  collars  and  a 
package  of  toothpicks  belonging  to  the  Judge,  sub 
stituting  for  them  Mrs.  Boynton's  rugs  and  dress 
ing-case.  Lucy  waited  to  see  him  depart,  bolted 
her  door,  spread  one  rug  over  the  straw  bed,  and 
drew  another  upon  herself  as  she  dropped  into  the 
deep  sleep  of  utter  physical  fatigue. 

Towards  morning  she  was  aroused  by  a  con 
fused  sound  from  the  room  below.  She  sprang  up 
in  bed,  trying  to  realize  her  position.  Through  the 
thin  boards  dividing  them  she  distinctly  heard  the 
rattle  of  dice-boxes,  voices  in  dispute,  oaths,  a  scuf 
fle,  a  pistol  shot,  then  another —  a  riot  making  hid 
eous  the  night.  Overcome  with  terror  she  tottered 
to  her  feet.  The  candle  she  had  left  burning  flick 
ered  in  its  socket  and  went  out,  leaving  her  in  dark 
ness.  Lucy  groped  her  way  to  the  window,  with 
an  absurd  impulse  to  cry  aloud  for  help.  At  the 
very  moment  when,  fancying  that  she  could  detect 
the  noise  of  a  horse's  hoofs,  a  wild  prayer  for  Tom 
to  come  for  her  rose  to  her  lips,  more  shots  were 
heard  below,  and  something  whizzed  up  past  her 
ear,  leaving  a  trail  like  fire  upon  her  cheek. 

Tom  Boynton,  riding  hard  through  the  night  over 
rough  mountain-roads  to  seek  his  wife,  reached  the 
tavern  just  in  time  to  find  its  inmates  launched 


AN   EDELWEISS  OF   THE   SIERRAS  13 

into  a  fierce  but  not  unusual  affray  at  cards.  The 
landlord,  apt  at  this  stage  of  the  game  to  be  over 
come  by  strong  libations,  and  on  the  present  occa 
sion  somewhat  unnerved  by  what  he  called  "  the 
boys  bein'  rayther  onexpectedly  lively,"  directed 
him  to  Lucy's  room.  Tom's  knock  and  call  receiv 
ing  no  response,  he  burst  open  the  door  to  find  his 
wife  lying  senseless  on  the  floor. 

Out  of  her  trance  of  terror  Lucy  slowly  came. 
She  felt  the  warm  clasp  of  loving  arms,  a  strong 
heart  beating  close  to  hers.  A  man's  tears  were 
rained  upon  her  face,  and  the  slight  wound  upon 
her  cheek  was  stanched  with  tenderest  kisses. 


II 


WE  may  look  in  upon  Lucy's  new  home,  after 
the  lapse  of  a  peaceful  year  or  two.  It  was  a  veri 
table  mountain  eyrie,  somewhat  apart  from  the  min 
ing  settlement,  a  roughly  built  but  comfortable 
cottage,  clinging  for  dear  life  to  the  edge  of  a  bat 
tlement  of  cliffs,  nestled  under  the  locked  arms  of 
giant  pine-trees,  where  they  lay  down  to  rest  at 
night  lulled  by  the  music  of  falling  waters,  in  early 
spring  swelling  to  the  roar  of  a  mighty  cataract  as 
the  swollen  torrent  plunged  downward  through  the 
canon  at  their  feet.  As  for  the  interior,  every  stick 
of  furniture  had  been  brought  up  on  pack-mules 


14  AN    EDELWEISS   OF   THE   SIERRAS 

from  the  station  below,  and  it  was  not  elaborate ; 
but  a  few  months  of  Lucy's  stay  sufficed  to  make 
of  it  a  very  bower  of  bliss,  Tom  thought.  There 
were  warm  red  curtains  to  hang  before  the  case 
ments,  old  Aunt  Boynton's  blue  tea-cups  and  brass 
candlesticks  for  the  dresser  shelves,  fair  English 
linen  and  bright  English  silver  adjusted  by  deftest 
English  fingers  upon  their  modest  board.  For 
drapery  to  the  little  lounge  they  had  the  brilliant 
coloring  and  fine  web  of  blankets  made  by  the  Na- 
vajo  Indians.  How  Lucy  had  cried  for  joy  when 
she  found  blossoming  bravely  upon  her  window- 
sill  a  pot  of  old-fashioned  red  and  white  balsam, 
which  Tom  had  raised  for  her  from  the  seed,  in 
memory  of  the  garden  at  St.  Margaret's ! 

As  months  went  on,  Lucy,  well  trained  to  the 
solitude  of  her  New-World  life,  found  a  thousand 
charms  surrounding  it.  In  early  summer,  leaving 
their  mossy  fern-hung  cliffs,  Tom  and  she  would 
make  long  expeditions  on  horseback  down  into  the 
enchanting  region,  where,  kneeling  upon  hillocks 
of  emerald  turf,  waist-deep  in  scented  grass,  she 
might  fill  her  lap  with  a  mass  of  gaudy  wild  tulips, 
of  lilies,  and  syringa  lusciously  sweet  in  smell,  of 
tiny  unknown  flowers  in  every  shade  of  blue  and 
white  and  rose. 

The  glorious  oaks  of  the  foot-hill  summits, 
spreading  afar  their  layers  of  lustrous  shade,  ap 
pealed  most  strongly  to  her  English  heart ;  but  she 
learned  to  look  with  enthusiasm  upon  the  pines 
clothing  with  their  girdle  of  everlasting  green  the 


AN   EDELWEISS  OF   THE  SIERRAS  15 

granite  ribs  of  the  mountain  monarchs  couched  in 
eternal  sleep. 

At  last  there  came  a  late  October  day  when 
Tom's  baby-girl  came  into  blossom  like  Alpine 
Edelweiss  beneath  a  fall  of  snow.  Lucy  did  well, 
and  during  two  or  three  weeks  purest  love  and  joy 
reigned  under  the  roof  of  the  little  dwelling.  Tom 
walked  about  on  tip-toes,  and  conversed  in  awe- 
stricken  whispers  even  at  the  distance  of  a  mile 
from  his  new  treasure.  An  old  Dutchwoman,  who 
had  been  induced  to  come  from  a  distant  settle 
ment  to  attend  upon  Lucy,  abandoned  them  when 
the  baby  was  about  three  weeks  old,  Lucy  declar 
ing  herself  quite  strong  enough  to  resume  her 
usual  duties  about  the  cottage,  aided  by  her  quaint 
factotum,  the  Chinaman  with  a  blue  cotton  blouse 
and  a  pigtail,  who  was  their  cook,  launderer,  and 
butler  combined.  A  few  days  after,  Tom  bounded 
up  the  little  path  leading  to  his  home,  and  burst  in 
like  an  autumn  blast  of  wind,  to  find  Lucy  sitting 
by  the  fire,  looking  pale  and  weary,  holding  her 
hand  upon  her  side. 

"I  think  I  have  taken  a  little  cold,  Tom,"  she 
said,  trying  to  smile  up  at  him  in  her  usual  fashion. 
"  Perhaps  I  had  better  go  back  to  bed." 

And  oh,  the  pity  of  it ! — all  too  soon,  poor  little 
English  Lucy  lay  still  and  cold  upon  her  couch,  the 
baby  wailing  at  her  side.  Just  before  she  died, 
Lucy  asked  Tom  to  listen  —  they  were  singing  the 
"Jubilate"  at  St.  Margaret's:  so  listening  she 
passed  away.  They  made  her  a  grave  at  the  foot 


l6  AN   EDELWEISS  OF  THE   SIERRAS 

of  her  favorite  tree — a  grand  heaven-reaching  pine, 
clothed  with  a  mist  of  perfumed  plumy  green. 


Ill 


TOM  BOYNTON  recrossed  his  desolate  threshold 
to  cast  himself  down  upon  Lucy's  vacant  couch, 
and  pray  God  to  take  him  too.  He  heard  a  feeble 
cry,  and  felt  beneath  the  clothes  a  stirring  like  the 
flutter  of  a  bird.  Lucy's  baby  lay  there,  forgotten 
in  the  might  of  his  despair.  He  picked  up  the 
tiny  thing,  awkwardly  adjusting  its  garments  and 
soothing  it  against  his  cheek.  The  child  cried  on, 
and  would  not  suffer  him  to  lay  it  down ;  by-and-by 
it  fell  asleep  in  his  bosom ;  and  to  his  heart,  that 
had  been  like  a  stone,  there  crept  again  a  sem 
blance  of  human  warmth. 

Next  day  storm-clouds  hung  low  upon  the  peaks 
of  the  Sierras,  and  the  wind  went  moaning  through 
the  pines.  A  miner,  who  was  Tom's  especial  friend 
among  his  employes,  came  up  early  from  the  camp 
to  find  him  making  preparations  for  departure  from 
the  cottage. 

Without  proper  food  or  attendance  for  the  child, 
and  with  no  prospect  of  securing  for  it  a  woman's 
care,  short  of  the  kind  old  nurse  whose  services  at 
home  were  claimed  by  her  own  newly  arrived 
grandchild,  he  had  made  up  his  mind,  in  view  of 


AN    EDELWEISS   OF  THE  SIERRAS  17 

the  menacing  snow  blockade,  to  set  out  on  horse 
back  with  the  baby  in  his  arms,  and  striking  down 
the  mountain-side  by  a  precipitous  trail  not  often 
used,  make  all  speed  to  gain  the  far-away  ranch- 
house  where  the  old  nurse  might  be  found.  Tom's 
mare,  the  noble  creature  that  had  borne  him  so 
fleetly  and  so  faithfully  to  meet  his  bride,  was 
equipped  with  such  provision  for  the  ride  as  she 
could  carry,  and  the  infant,  warmly  wrapped,  was 
laid  in  her  father's  breast.  Boynton  rode  forth 
from  his  home  into  the  forest  gloom,  like  a  spirit 
driven  from  paradise,  daring  not  to  look  behind. 

With  steady  riding,  under  ordinary  conditions  of 
the  weather,  he  might  hope  by  evening  to  secure  a 
shelter  for  the  child.  A  sullen  canopy  of  sky  and 
a  peculiar  threatening  of  snow  in  the  atmosphere 
caused  him  many  an  anxious  pang  of  doubt  and 
self-reproach  as  from  time  to  time  he  gazed  in 
upon  the  sleeping  baby  nestled  under  the  folds  of 
the  great  plaid  with  which  she  was  bound  to  his 
body,  then,  loosening  rein,  let  the  mare  out  into 
a  long  even  stride,  carrying  them  swiftly  through 
the  pine-carpeted  forest  reaches,  and  across  the 
granite  ledges,  where  her  hoofs  rang  cheerily. 

A  snow-flake,  then  another,  fell  like  lead  upon 
his  heart.  They  came  thick  and  fast  as  the  short 
day  closed  in,  bringing  the  expedition  to  a  sudden 
halt.  The  dreaded  snow  was  upon  them  in  good 
earnest,  and  he  dared  not  risk  the  loss  of  trail. 
Turning  aside  under  the  impervious  roofing  of  a 
group  of  firs,  Boynton  prepared  to  bivouac. 


18  AN    EDELWEISS   OF  THE   SIERRAS 

No  hardship  this  for  an  old  campaigner,  and  in 
a  short  time  a  brisk  flame  from  a  pile  of  storm- 
riven  logs  and  branches  shot  up  into  the  blue 
shadows  overhead.  Tom  would  have  taken  oath 
that  his  brave  little  comrade  smiled  back  at  him 
when,  after  feeding,  he  stowed  her  warmly  away, 
under  the  peak  of  an  India  rubber  blanket,  upon  a 
royally  fragrant  couch  of  moss  and  fir  boughs.  She 
lay  there,  uttering  a  few  inarticulate  murmurs  of 
sweet  content,  while  he  brewed  himself  a  pot  of 
tea,  and  looked  after  the  comfort  of  his  mare,  teth 
ered  sociably  at  his  elbow. 

Through  the  long  watches  of  the  night,  while 
Tom  kept  vigil  by  his  baby's  side,  taking  anxious 
heed  of  the  progress  of  the  storm,  his  faithful  ani 
mal  turned  on  him  eyes  so  full  of  human  sympathy 
he  almost  felt  that  she  must  speak. 

With  the  return  of  daylight  Boynton  determined 
at  all  cost  to  take  up  the  abandoned  trail.  Cheer 
ing  him  as  could  no  other  sound,  arose  the  baby's 
lusty  demand  for  breakfast.  Making  nervous  haste 
to  prepare  for  her  a  meal  consisting  of  biscuit- 
crumbs  and  sugar,  with  snow-water  warmed  over 
the  embers,  he  broke  camp,  and  set  forth  anew 
upon  his  eyrie  pilgrimage. 

Amid  the  spectral  tree-forms  shivering  beneath 
their  weight  of  snow  (his  knowledge  of  the  confor 
mation  of  the  hills,  the  grouping  of  the  rocks,  aid 
ing  him  in  this  extremity)  he  labored  on,  progress 
at  every  moment  becoming  more  difficult,  in  the 
teeth  of  a  growing  storm.  The  mare's  feet  gath- 


AN   EDELWEISS  OF  THE  SIERRAS  19 

ered  snow  until,  sliding  forward  with  a  dangerous 
rush  down  the  incline,  then  pulling  herself  up,  with 
panting  sides,  she  would  turn  her  head  away  from 
the  furious  onslaught  of  wind  and  snow  bearing 
upon  them  through  the  forest  aisles  like  a  wall  of 
breakers  on  the  shore. 

Tom  Boynton  drew  rein  beneath  an  overhanging 
shelf  of  rock,  not  knowing  whether  he  had  there 
found  his  grave  and  his  child's.  Hour  after  hour, 
while  the  sleet  drove  and  the  wind  raged,  he  stood 
with  his  back  against  the  granite  wall,  hugging  the 
baby  close,  wetting  her  lips  with  wine,  and  breath 
ing  his  warm  breath  on  her  face.  With  all  his 
might  he  resisted  an  overmastering  sense  of  drow 
siness.  The  recklessness  of  life  before  possessing 
him  was  merged  into  an  intense  desire  to  struggle 
for  existence  for  the  sake  of  Lucy's  little  one, 
Once,  when  the  baby  cried  long  and  piteously,  Tom 
sang  her  to  rest  with  the  fragment  of  a  nursery 
song,  the  big  tears  running  down  his  cheeks. 

The  storm  lulled,  and  the  sleet-fall  changed  into 
rain  as  the  afternoon  wore  on.  Bad  as  the  outlook 
was,  the  situation  left  him  no  alternative  but  to 
press  forward  with  all  the  strength  remaining  to 
man  and  beast.  Down  in  the  valley  below  this 
ridge  was  a  familiar  ford,  beyond  which  he  knew 
the  locality  to  have  been  a  recent  camping  ground 
for  Indians.  Again  they  set  out  under  clouds  clos 
ing  down  in  a  dense  gray  curtain,  to  break  ere  long 
into  a  violent  pelting  shower  of  rain.  In  a  moment 
Boynton  was  soaking  wet,  as  if  he  had  fallen  in  a 


20  AN   EDELWEISS   OF   THE   SIERRAS 

stream.  The  baby,  roused  to  a  new  sense  of  dis 
comfort,  uttered  a  faint  moan.  Looking  in  upon 
her,  he  saw  a  strange  pallor  on  the  little  face,  a 
blue  shade  settling  on  her  lips. 

Now,  indeed,  Tom  Boynton's  stout  heart  quailed 
within  him.  They  had  reached  the  summit  of  the 
mountain  spur.  Below,  chafing  within  its  rocky 
bed,  ran  the  turbulent  river.  Over  upon  the  far 
ther  bank,  curling  merrily  up  among  a  thicket  of 
firs,  arose  the  unmistakable  column  of  a  camp-fire 
smoke. 

With  a  shout  to  his  mare,  Tom  dashed  madly 
down  the  hill.  For  Lucy's  dear  sake  he  would 
gain  that  camp  with  her  child  alive ! 

With  her  fine  instinct  of  never-flagging  sympa 
thy,  the  mare  plunged  unhesitatingly  into  the  icy 
stream.  Then  ensued  a  rare  struggle,  every  nerve 
of  horse  and  rider  strained  to  keep  afloat  under  the 
fierce  resistance  of  the  swollen  torrent.  About 
mid-stream  the  mare  was  caught  in  the  waves  and 
whirled  about  like  a  cork.  Boynton  threw  himself 
into  the  boiling  foam,  and,  supporting  his  precious 
freight  upon  the  saddle  with  one  hand,  managed  to 
keep  up  with  the  other,  until,  by  a  splendid  effort, 
the  mare  recovered  her  balance  and  struck  out  for 
the  shore,  planting  her  hoofs  in  triumph  upon  firm 
ground  at  last. 

Tom  rode  into  the  Indian  encampment,  where  a 
half-dozen  of  them  were  busy  around  a  generous 
fire  of  logs.  A  young  woman,  tall,  impassive,  state 
ly,  like  a  Diana  cast  in  bronze,  looked  up  from 


AN   EDELWEISS   OF  THE   SIERRAS  21 

her  pappoose  at  the  apparition  of  this  spent  and 
dripping  traveller,  who  could  only  muster  strength 
to  drop  from  his  saddle,  walk  into  the  red  glare  of 
the  heavenly  ring  of  warmth,  and  without  words 
hold  out  to  her  the  burden  from  his  breast. 


IV 


A  FEW  years  ago  some  Americans  newly  arrived 
in  Paris  were  lounging  in  the  court -yard  of  the 
Grand  Hotel,  listening  to  the  idle  talk  of  their  com 
patriots,  who  dispensed  with  liberal  hand  the  gos 
sip  of  their  colony. 

While  they  were  thus  chatting  a  carriage  drove 
under  the  porte-cochere,  from  which  an  elaborate 
footman  proceeded  to  extract  severally  a  middle- 
aged  gentleman  of  distinguished  appearance,  a 
lady  bountifully  handsome,  cordial  in  manner, 
frankly  magnificent  in  attire,  and  a  young  girl 
dressed  in  gray  velvet  with  bands  of  silvery  gray 
fur,  the  type  of  whose  aristocratic  beauty  would 
have  stamped  her  as  worthy  of  adorning  any  court 
in  Europe. 

As  this  party  passed  in  all  of  the  young  men 
doffed  their  hats.  One  of  them  stood  as  if  moon 
struck  by  the  vision. 

"  Hamersly,  you  are  palpably  slain  on  the  spot ; 
or  is  it  the  reopening  of  some  old  wound  ?  You 


22  AN   EDELWEISS  OF   THE   SIERRAS 

have  met  our  American  '  Edelweiss,'  the  '  rare  pale 
Margaret,'  before?" 

"I  did  not  know  I  am  a  fanatic,"  said  Hamers- 
ly,  coming  out  of  his  maze  ;  "  I  honestly  declare  to 
you  that  I  never  in  all  my  life  till  now  saw  a  girl 
before  whom  I  felt  madly  inclined  to  throw  myself 
down  and  be  trampled  on." 

"  You  may  be  saved  the  sacrifice,  my  dear  fel 
low,"  his  friend  said,  with  the  pleased  air  of  one 
who  has  a  sensation  to  communicate.  "  Can  it  be 
that  the  joy  is  reserved  for  me  of  finding  one  man 
in  Paris  who  doesn't  know  that  the  young  lady  you 
have  just  seen  is  in  a  few  days  to  become  by  her 

marriage  with  the  Due  de  B a  member  of  one 

of  the  most  illustrious  families  in  France  ? — that  he 
is  as  romantically  in  love  with  her  as  if  he  were  the 
poorest  and  proudest  of  jeunes  premiers,  which,  in 
deed,  he  might  be  from  his  looks? — that  the  hand 
some  old  fellow  yonder,  with  the  sort  of  cavalier 
dash  about  him,  and  those  ferocious  long  mus 
taches  and  melancholy  eyes,  is  her  father,  who  wor 
ships  the  ground  she  treads  upon — a  father-in-law 
many  a  man  besides  the  Due  has  coveted,  let  me 
tell  you— Tom  Boynton,  the  Californian  millionaire, 
the  well-beloved  hero  of  the  Pacific  coast?" 

"And  the  florid  lady  is  her  mother,  I  suppose?" 

"  Nothing  of  the  sort.  You  are  arguing  yourself 
unknown  not  to  recognize  the  famous  Queen  of 
Diamonds  of  our  colony,  who  has  a  very  substantial 
husband  of  her  own  hereabouts.  Miss  Boynton 
has  had  the  benefit  of  her  chaperonage  off  and  on 


AN   EDELWEISS   OF   THE   SIERRAS  23 

since  leaving  \iox  pensionnat  a  year  ago.  Old  Tom 
Boynton  married,  indeed.  Half  the  women  of  your 
acquaintance  would  tell  you  how  unlikely  that 
is  ever  to  come  to  pass  again." 


GOLDEN -ROD 


GOLDEN -ROD: 
Bn  1F&BI  ot  flfcount  Beeert 


IT  was  at  one  of  the  "  Patriarchs' "  balls  at  Del- 
monico's,  two  seasons  ago,  that  Erskine  first  saw 
the  woman  destined  to  reign  upon  the  empty  throne 
of  his  affections. 

He  had  been  poor,  proud,  and  studious  during 
many  years  of  his  college  life  and  subsequent 
career  at  the  New  York  bar,  had  abjured  society  as 
far  too  expensive  a  luxury,  and,  with  the  exception 
of  dining  occasionally  with  two  or  three  warm 
friends,  who  would  not  take  "  no  "  for  an  answer, 
went  nowhere. 

The  windfall  of  an  unexpected  inheritance,  lead 
ing  to  a  summer  run  over  the  European  Continent, 
where  he  fell  into  the  hands  of  Mrs.  Pratt  (Polly 
Pratt,  she  is  commonly  called  by  her  followers), 
extracted  him  from  his  seclusion  as  cleanly  as  a 
nut  kernel  from  its  shell.  Mrs.  Pratt  has  a  way 
with  her  that  no  one  can  resist,  and  the  two  or 
three  fashionable  New  York  girls  in  her  train  fell 
upon  this  "new"  man  with  the  rapture  that  in- 


28  GOLDEN -ROD: 

spired  Columbus  when  he  first  saw  the  coast-line 
of  the  New  World  detached  from  the  waste  of 
waters.  Erskine  was  whizzed  through  Switzerland 
and  Germany  with  lightning  speed,  and  taken  to 
see  the  midnight  sun  in  company  with  all  these 
gay,  gossiping  people,  who  flattered  him  so  deli 
cately  that,  only  in  the  most  imperceptible  way, 
he  awoke  one  morning  to  find  himself  a  desir 
able,  fresh  from  the  mint,  and  ready  to  be  put  into 
immediate  circulation  in  the  society  of  the  great 
Western  metropolis. 

When  they  all  met  again,  in  December,  in  New 
York,  Erskine  was  more  and  more  filled  with  sur 
prise  that  he  had  not  long  ago  found  out  how 
very  nice  it  is  to  dine,  day  after  day,  with  charming 
well-bred  people,  in  houses  that  are  a  dream  of 
decorative  art ;  to  drop  in  at  one  or  two  clubs,  and 
chat  with  fellows  who  are  ever  ready  to  "  put  you 
up  to  anything  ;"  to  ride  up  the  Avenue  and  through 
the  Park,  past  long  lines  of  elegant  equipages, 
whence  gay  nods  and  wooing  smiles  are  bestowed 
in  quick  succession. 

To  weary  women  and  responsive  girls  this  man 
was  a  heaven-send,  with  his  erect  figure,  his  warm 
coloring,  his  clear  eye,  his  look  of  active  manhood, 
and  strong  intelligence.  Then,  too,  while  conscious 
of  his  success,  he  had  the  rare  grace  to  be  modest 
in  his  hour  of  triumph.  As  yet  the  insufferable  airs 
of  some  young  Knickerbockers  had  not  invaded 
him.  Perhaps  it  was  a  relic  of  his  barbarism 
that  made  him  laugh  naturally,  walk  with  a  spring 


AN    IDYL    OF    MOUNT    DESERT  29 

in  his  step,  treat  women  with  an  old  -  fashioned 
chivalrous  courtesy,  and  deal  with  a  young  girl  in 
thought  and  speech  as  with  a  sister. 

Not  one  of  all  the  women  of  the  world  whom  he 
had  met  had  as  yet  had  power  to  quicken  his 
pulses,  until'  one  evening,  at  the  February  ball  I 
speak  of,  he  saw  Rosalie  Gray  leave  her  seat  upon 
the  dais,  where  she  was  talking  to  an  effusive  old 
dowager,  and,  laying  her  hand  upon  some  man's 
coat-sleeve  with  the  coldest  touch  imaginable,  go 
out  to  join  the  dance.  She  had  refused  to  dance 
in  the  cotillon,  and  it  was  apparently  to  supplant 
one  reign  of  boredom  by  another  that  she  made 
this  move. 

Erskine  stood  gazing  at  her  tall  form,  draped 
in  white,  with  a  glitter  like  that  of  the  snow  in 
moonlight,  her  bust  rising  and  falling  tranquilly 
under  a  circlet  of  diamonds,  her  proud  head  un 
decked,  save  by  a  few  jewelled  stars.  He  was 
quite  too  recent  a  recruit  to  the  privileged  ranks  of 
the  Patriarchs  to  know  that  she  was  the  best- 
dressed  woman  in  the  room.  It  was  left  to  little 
Watson  Webster  at  his  elbow  to  appraise  her  gown, 
to  affix  the  great  maker's  name,  to  reckon  up  the 
value  of  her  gems,  to  speculate  as  to  who  had  sent 
her  the  two  bouquets  she  carried — one  of  royal  red 
Jacqueminot  roses,  the  other  of 

"naiad-like  lilies  of  the  vale, 
Whom  youth  makes  so  fair  and  passion  so  pale 
That  the  light  of  their  tremulous  bells  is  seen 
Through  their  pavilions  of  tender  green." 


30  GOLDEN -ROD: 

Erskine  saw  her  lend  herself  haughtily  to  the  arm 
of  her  danseur,  and  melt  away  into  the  throng,  with 
an  insane  jealousy  of  the  puppy  who  dared  invade 
this  goddess  by  a  touch.  Eagerly  did  his  eyes  fol 
low  her  perfect  grace,  and  all  the  while  Watson 
Webster  continued  to  babble  in  his  ear  unweariedly. 

Watson  is  the  most  industrious  of  quidnuncs, 
and  a  more  useful  small  personage  to  society  it 
would  be  difficult  to  find.  He  is  kind  and  gracious 
to  all  the  debutantes,  and  hand  in  glove  with  all 
the  dowagers.  He  fancies  that  half  of  them  are 
secretly  in  love  with  him,  but,  like  Mr.  Snevellicci, 
he  is  catholic  in  his  admirations,  and  says,  "  I  love 
'em,  every  one."  While  Watson  stands,  with  his 
little  cock-sparrow  air  and  his  eye-glasses,  talking 
of  fifty  things,  poor  moon -struck  Erskine,  losing 
sight  of  his  beauty  as  she  passes  out  under  the  soft 
pink-shaded  lamps  into  another  room,  turns  upon 
him  with  a  gasp. 

"  Who  is  she  ?"  he  asks,  as  if  there  was  but  one 
"  divinest  she  "  in  all  this  throng. 

"  Oh,  really,  now,  my  dear  fellow !"  remonstrates 
Mr.  WTebster,  with  a  puzzled  air ;  and  when  Erskine 
makes  him  understand,  he  speaks relentingly.  " Oh, 
that,  indeed !  Well,  I'm  not  surprised,  as  you  are 
just  beginning  among  us,  and  she  keeps  to  herself 
awfully.  That's  Mrs.  Caspar  Gray,  a  widow,  who 
has  been  in  Europe,  mending  her  broken  heart,  as 
we  Americans  always  do,  for  several  years.  Peo 
ple  are  making  no  end  of  fuss  over  her  this  season, 
but  somehow  or  other  I  don't  seem  to  get  on  with 


AN    IDYL    OF    MOUNT    DESERT.  31 

her.  That  grand  sort  of  creature  is  all  very  well, 
you  know,  but  to  my  taste  a  woman  should  be 
'  simpatica  ;'  that's  it — '  simpatica,'  you  know." 

Watson  was  quite  delighted  with  himself  for  find 
ing  so  elegant  a  phrase,  and  went  on  cheerfully  : 

"She  made  an  immense  success  in  London  last 
spring,  and  at  Newport  this  summer,  when  she  came 

back.  She  has  a  beautiful  house  in  Street, 

but  don't  take  the  trouble  to  entertain  much.  Now 
dinners,  for  instance — a  widow  ought,  in  my  opin 
ion,  to  lay  herself  out  on  dinners.  It  is  her  mission 
in  life,  according  to  my  idea.  As  far  as  you  are 
concerned,  I  don't  see  how  you  are  to  get  the  en 
tree  there,  because,  for  one  thing,  you  are  handi 
capped  by  that  Pratt  set.  Mrs.  Caspar  Gray  sits 
on  that  kind  of  thing  awfully.  I  advise  you  to  be 
very  careful,  my  dear  fellow,  about  that  kind  of 
thing.  You  can't  be  too  particular  to  know  just 
the  right  sort  of  people  at  the  start,  and  stick  to 
them." 

Little  Watson  was  so  plaintive  in  his  admoni 
tions  that  Erskine  laughed  outright.  To  him  the 
spectacle  of  these  society  men,  so  decorous,  so  lan 
guid,  so  anxious  to  step  neither  to  the  right  nor  to 
the  left  of  the  chalk  line  described  for  the  division 
of  their  "  set "  from  the  next — so  terribly  in  earnest 
about  it  all — was  infinitely  diverting. 

When  he  made  his  way  into  the  supper-room,  it 
was  to  be  hailed  by  Mrs.  Pratt,  who,  in  a  gown  all 
pink  and  blue,  with  roses,  like  a  Dresden  figurine, 
had  taken  possession  of  a  table  in  company  with 


32  GOLDEN- ROD: 

two  or  three  fast  girls  and  men.  This  little  lady  is 
in  her  element  when  reigning  over  a  supper-table 
at  a  ball.  She  has  a  talent  for  venturing  to  the 
verge  and  not  falling  over  that  is  quite  unparalleled  ; 
and  being  well-born,  rich,  and  supplied  with  a  most 
complaisant  husband,  is  in  the  front  rank  of  good 
society.  With  Erskine  she  had  always  been  end 
lessly  good-natured,  sisterly,  and  on  her  guard. 
To-night  he  felt  as  if  he  hardly  knew  her  for  the 
same  woman.  She  drew  aside  her  gauzy  clouds 
of  blue  and  rose-color,  calling  him  to  sit  by  her ; 
she  had  a  bottle  of  champagne  in  her  hand,  and 
filled  from  it  a  goblet,  which  she  held  to  Erskine's 
lips,  and  a  fire  of  raillery  arose  from  all  the  gay 
party,  which,  so  far  from  exhilarating  him,  excited 
the  profoundest  gloom. 

At  the  very  moment  when  he  was  thus  coldly 
captive,  Mrs.  Caspar  Gray,  with  a  distinguished- 
looking  gray-haired  gentleman  for  her  cavalier,  than 
whom  there  is  no  one  more  honored  in  the  com 
munity,  whose  word  is  law  in  all  matters  of  social 
observance,  passed  them  by.  Her  dress  brushed 
Erskine,  and  a  floating  fringe  caught  and  was  fixed 
upon  the  button  of  his  coat.  He  sprang  to  his 
feet  and  endeavored  to  aid  her  in  withdrawing  it ; 
Mrs.  Pratt,  also,  transformed  into  a  busy  ingenuous 
fairy,  proffering  her  services.  It  was  curious  to 
note  the  look  upon  Rosalie  Gray's  face  as  she 
calmly  repelled  the  advances  of  Mrs.  Pratt's  coterie. 
Had  they  been  disembodied  spirits  she  could  not 
have  looked  through  them  more  completely.  But 


AN    IDYL   OF   MOUNT  DESERT  33 

when  the  link  binding  her  to  Erskine  refused  to 
break,  and  some  one  was  searching  for  a  penknife 
to  cut  the  Gordian  knot,  the  horror  of  a  scene,  and 
in  such  company,  overcame  Mrs.  Gray  so  far  as  to 
bring  a  flush  to  her  features  like  the  rosy  sunrise 
on  Mont  Blanc.  Erskine  could  hardly  tell  whether 
she  even  noticed  him,  as  she  stood  there  erect,  with 
her  proudly-poised  head  and  delicately-curved  nos 
trils,  impatient  to  be  gone.  For  one  moment  their 
eyes  met,  as  he  bowed  low,  and  she  swept  away. 

For  the  rest  of  the  evening  Erskine  was  on 
thorns.  He  watched  her  surrounded  by  men,  and 
with  resentment  observed  that  she  danced  twice 
again — once  with  the  Vicomte  de  Marsac,  a  French 
man  of  distinction  on  his  American  travels ;  once 
with  Mr.  Vernon,  a  statuesque  creature  contributed 
.to  the  evening's  entertainment  by  her  Majesty's 
legation  at  Washington,  which  was  supposed  to 
claim  the  right  to  his  valuable  services  at  other 
times. 

In  vain  did  Mrs.  Pratt  resume  her  winning  courte 
sies.  Erskine  felt  unconquerably  oppressed  by  her 
and  by  everything.  He  haunted  the  corridor,  and, 
when  a  tall  figure  draped  in  a  white  and  gold  wrap 
went  down  the  stairs,  again  attended  by  the  gentle 
man  who  took  her  to  the  supper -room,  Erskine, 
with  ulster  on  and  hat  in  hand,  found  his  way  to 
the  lower  landing.  Fate  favored  him,  for  just  as 

Mr.  A ,  whom  he  knew,  reached  the  last  step, 

he  slipped  and  twisted  his  foot,  making  it  neces 
sary  to  be  at  least  assisted  to  a  seat.  Erskine's 
3 


34  GOLDEN  -  ROD  : 

offer  of  service  to  him  was  courteously  declined, 
but  as  the  door  opened  and  "  Mrs.  Caspar  Gray's 
carnage  "  was  loudly  announced,  her  footman  ap 
pearing  outside,  Mr.  A said,  hurriedly, 

"  Put  Mrs.  Gray  in  the  carriage  for  me,  Erskine, 
will  you  ?  I  shall  be  all  right  in  ten  minutes,  I  as 
sure  you,  Mrs.  Gray.  A  thousand  thanks  for  your 
solicitude.  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon  !  May  I  intro 
duce  to  you  my  friend,  Mr.  Erskine — Mrs.  Caspar 
Gray  ?" 

It  was  done :  for  a  moment  her  gloved  fingers 
touched  his  hand.  She  entered  her  carriage,  the 
footman  closed  the  door;  there  was  a  cool  con 
ventional  murmur  of  "thanks"  bestowed  upon 
poor  Erskine,  with  hardly  a  glance  towards  him, 
as  the  little  brougham,  crowded  in  the  line,  drove 
off  rapidly,  leaving  him  with  a  vision  of  a  clear- 
cut  face  looking  out  of  the  white  and  gold  dra 
peries,  and  a  waft  of  odor  from  the  roses  and 
lilies  in  her  hand  that  will  haunt  him  all  his 
life. 

And  then,  as  it  often  happens  we  meet  people 
once  whom  we  have  never  seen  before,  and  go  on 
meeting  them  pertinaciously,  Erskine  encountered 
Rosalie  Gray  within  two  days  after  that.  He  was 
behind  time  at  a  large  dinner-party,  and  reached 
the  drawing-room  only  to  be  assigned  to  a  pretty 
young  girl  of  the  period,  so  confident  of  her  own 
powers,  and  so  full  of  easy  talk,  that  during  two 
hours  he  abandoned  the  thought  of  any  possible 


AN   IDYL  OF  MOUNT   DESERT  35 

exertion  other  than  that  necessary  to  the  considera 
tion  of  Mrs.  Lyle's  perfect  menu. 

"  This  has  been  such  a  gay  season,  you  can't 
think,"  Miss  Amy  North  was  saying  in  his  ear, 
while  addicting  herself  with  the  frank  gourmandize 
of  girlhood  to  a  bouchkeci  la  reine,  "  this  is  my  tenth 
large  dinner,  and  I  have  been  to  fourteen  lunches 
already.  I  can't  count  the  dances  and  little  things, 
and  as  to  afternoon  teas,  they  are  a  nuisance  ;  don't 
you  think  so?  I  never  saw  you  at  an  afternoon 
tea,  by-the-way.  I  think  they  are  just  a  sort  of  an 
apology  for  people  who  don't  know  how  to  enter 
tain,  getting  Robinson  to  send  cards  to  everybody 
they  know,  giving  them  bread-and-milk  all  around, 
and  then  patting  them  on  the  head,  and  telling 
them  to  run  home  early  and  go  to  bed,  like  good 
children." 

"A  sort  of  a  curfew  bell  for  society?"  Erskine 
said,  laughing  at  her  strictures.  "  I  don't  see  how 
you  accomplish  anything  else  but  winging  your  way 
from  one  flower  to  another  in  such  a  life  as  this." 

"  Oh,  I  haven't  told  you  half,"  said  Miss  Amy, 
with  disdain.  "  Why,  all  the  girls  in  my  set  do  a 
great  deal  more  than  that.  We  have  a  Shakespeare 
class  and  a  German  class  and  a  literature  class. 
Then  we  go  to  draw  at  the  Art  League,  and  to  do 
crewel-work  at  the  Decorative  Art  Society.  Then 
we  must  go  to  that  dear  Theodore  Thomas's  con 
certs,  you  know,  and  I  have  my  singing  twice  a 
week  with  Herr  Bayreuth.  What  with  the  theatre 
now  and  then — it's  so  nice  to  go  to  Wallack's,  and 


36  GOLDEN  -  ROD  : 

there  is  always  something  melodramatic  for  you  to 
cry  over  (if  you  can,  but  I  can't}  at  the  Union 
Square  —  and  lots  of  other  things,  one's  time  is 
pretty  well  taken  up." 

"  How  much  I  should  value  that  portion  of  it 
you  are  bestowing  now  upon  me  !" 

"  Oh,  I  like  to  talk  to  you,"  was  the  consoling 
rejoinder.  "  The  truth  is,  my  brother-in-law,  Frank 
Thornton,  and  Gracie  (that's  his  wife,  my  sister, 
you  know)  had  made  such  a  swan  of  you  before  I 
ever  met  you  that  I  was  rather  inclined  to  think 
you  horrid.  You  know  how  one  feels  about  those 
people  in  Sunday-school  books  who  love  to  take 
their  medicine,  and  want  to  die  early,  and  all  that 
sort  of  thing  ?  I  had  a  kind  of  an  idea  that  you 
would  be  like  that ;  but  it  is  quite  different.  Gracie 
says  when  you  come  to  see  us  she  always  feels  as 
if  somebody  had  opened  a  door  in  a  very  hot  room. 
Fihtl  No,  thanks,  and  no  champagne.  It  is  my 
principle  always  to  skip  here  till  we  come  to  the 
salad  at  a  dinner.  That  and  an  ice-pudding  are 
like  oases  in  the  desert  of  Sahara.  Do  you  know 
I  am  seriously  thinking  of  retiring  from  the  world 
after  this  year?  One  likes  to  try  everything,  of 
course,  but  one  or  two  seasons  will  be  enough  for 
me.  I  can  stand  the  girls,  and  some  of  the  men ; 
but  I  have  no  patience  with  the  older  women — the 
married  ones ;  they  take  everything  away  from  us 
in  New  York  society." 

"There  is  a  remedy  that  I  observe  most  of  you 
young  ladies  fly  to,"  Erskine  said,  with  a  smile. 


AN 'IDYL  OF  MOUNT  DESERT  37 

"  Well,  but  if  I  loved  anybody,  as  Grace  loves 
Frank,  for  example,"  said  Amy,  with  a  look  like 
Una's  in  her  face,  "  I  should  want  to  stay  with  him 
and  read,  and  go  to  balls  together  and  come  away 
early,  as  they  do.  But  these  women  who  are  rather 
old — at  least  I  think  so — who  go  around  to  public 
places  with  silly  little  boys — keeping  Kindergarten, 
we  girls  call  it.  Look  at  Mrs.  Pratt.  Almost  any 
man  is  game  for  her,  and  you  see  her  with  every 
body  in  turn.  There  is  one  woman  in  town  whom 
I  admire  more  than  anybody  else,  and  there  she  is, 
at  the  very  end  of  the  table,  next  to  Mr.  Lyle.  You 
can't  see  her  for  those  waxlights.  Lean  this  way 
a  moment.  Isn't  she  a  love  ? — Mrs.  Caspar  Gray." 

Far  up  the  glittering  vista  of  lights  and  glass  and 
porcelain,  over  a  bed  of  Marechal  Neil  roses,  Ers- 
kine  saw  her  beautiful,  high  -  bred  face,  wearing  a 
little  wearied  air  that  charmed  and  excited  him  at 
once.  His  heart  beat  high  with  the  anticipation  of 
meeting  her  again. 

"Why,  what  is  the  matter?"  said  the  quick- 
sighted  Miss  Amy.  "  You  look  wonderfully  bright. 
One  would  think  that  you  belong  to  Mrs.  Gray's 
cordon  of  unrequited  lovers." 

"  I  have  never  spoken  to  her  in  my  life,"  he  said, 
gayly.  "  May  I  not  worship  from  afar  ?  The  la 
dies  are  going,  I  see.  Au  revoir,  then,  in  the  draw 
ing-room." 

The  long  train  of  beautiful  women  passed  out. 
When  the  men  rejoined  them,  the  large  room, 
sparkling  with  the  subdued  light  of  many  candles, 


38  GOLDEN  -  ROD  : 

set  upon  mantel-shelf  and  brackets  everywhere,  and 
in  sconces  of  old  English  brass  high  up  on  walls 
hung  in  the  half-tints  of  color  that  artists  love,  dis 
played  more  than  one  group  of  beauties  a  man 
might  cheerfully  delay  to  look  upon.  Erskine  had 
eyes  but  for  one.  Against  a  portiere  of  Oriental  stuff 
of  some  deep  blue,  like  the  plum  before  a  touch  has 
brushed  away  its  silvery  bloom,  sat  Rosalie  Gray. 
Her  dress  was  of  a  pale  yellow  brocade,  the  front  of 
palest  blue.  Round  her  throat  was  a  necklet  of  dia 
monds,  and  at  her  breast  a  great  cluster  of  early 
jonquils  nestled  in  the  folds  of  some  rare  old  Ven 
ice  point.  Her  hand  trifled  with  a  pale  blue  fan, 
with  carved  sticks  of  yellow  ivory.  She  was  in  con 
versation  with  Mrs.  Lyle,  but  arose  as  the  gentle 
men  came  in,  and,  making  her  adieus,  quickly  dis 
appeared. 

"Another  engagement,"  the  hostess  said,  when 
some  one  asked  the  reason  why. 

"  That  is  the  penalty  of  wooing  a  bright  particu 
lar  star,"  was  the  laughing  rejoinder.  "  Nobody 
is  so  much  in  demand  as  Mrs.  Gray." 

Bitterly  disappointed,  Erskine  sought  the  street. 
It  was  drizzling  gently  as  he  walked  down  the 
avenue  to  his  club,  but  he  did  not  know  it  until, 
upon  going  into  the  smoking-room,  some  acquaint 
ance  suggested  to  him  that  he  had  better  go  home 
to  change  his  clothes. 

Something  possessed  him  next  day  to  go  to  a 
famous  florist  and  wreck  himself  upon  an  order  for 
roses — rare,  princely  roses,  laid  layer  upon  layer  in 


AN    IDYL   OF   MOUNT   DESERT  39 

beds  of  maidenhair  fern.  These  were  sent  anony 
mously  to  her  address,  and  for  weeks  the  offering 
was  repeated,  until  the  florist  and  his  young  man 
began  to  look  upon  this  reckless  youth  with  the 
favor  bestowed  only  upon  male  customers  either 
just  before  or  for  a  short  time  after  their  entrance 
into  the  holy  estate  of  matrimony. 

He  saw  her  in  her  brougham  in  the  Park;  on 
horseback  sometimes,  followed  by  her  groom ;  at 
the  opera,  where  from  a  distant  door-way  he  gazed 
at  her  profile  against  the  crimson  lining  of  her 
box,  fancied  that  he  saw  his  flowers  in  her  hand, 
and  noted  with  exultation  that  among  all  the  vis 
itors  succeeding  each  other  in  the  vacant  chairs 
behind  her  there  was  not  one  to  whom  she  gave  a 
shade  of  preference  above  the  rest. 

At  last,  one  morning  when  he  was  coming  out  of 
the  Brunswick,  a  lady  walking  with  a  firm,  light 
tread  crossed  his  path.  She  looked  up,  and  for  the 
first  time  since  their  casual  introduction  met  his 
open  gaze.  Alas  for  Erskine  and  all  his  wasted 
hopes  and  roses  !  Mrs.  Caspar  Gray  looked  at 
him  without  a  shadow  of  recognition  in  her  glori 
ous  eyes.  He  might  have  been  the  jaunty  porter 
of  the  Hotel  Brunswick,  standing  near,  for  all  in 
terest  she  vouchsafed. 

"  It  is  over,"  Erskine  said,  between  his  teeth, 
striding  away  over  Madison  Square. 


40  GOLDEN  -  ROD  : 


II 


ONE  summer  evening,  when  town  had  become 
rather  less  endurable  than  usual  with  heat  and 
dust,  Erskine  dropped  in  upon  a  pair  of  people  of 
his  acquaintance,  to  whom  you  were  very  irregu 
larly  presented  by  Miss  Amy  North,  in  the  last 
chapter,  as  "  Frank  and  Grade." 

Erskine  found  them  fanning  themselves  in  the 
half-light  of  a  parlor  open  on  all  sides  to  what 
stirring  of  the  air  it  was  possible  to  trap  under  the 
semblance  of  a  breeze.  An  exhausted  voice  came 
to  him  in  greeting  from  a  gilt  wicker-chair,  and  he 
felt  his  way  to  a  small  jewel-laden  hand,  though 
not  without  becoming  entangled  in  a  billowy  mass 
of  lawn  and  lace  that  lay  across  the  India-matting. 

"  I  am  as  glad  to  see  you  as  I  can  be  of  any 
thing  in  this  weather,"  Mrs.  Thornton  said.  "  Pray 
sit  here  between  the  windows,  and  have  a  fan. 
Frank  dear,  are  you  quite  sure  that  you  have 
opened  everything,  and  will  you  please  take  away 
these  flowers  from  my  side  ?" 

"'I  hate  these  roses' feverish  blood,' "  quoted 
obedient  Frank,  as  he  bore  away  the  vase  whose 
fragrance  was  filling  all  the  air.  "  Erskine,  we 
have  just  arrived  at  that  period  of  matrimonial  de- 


AN   IDYL   OF   MOUNT   DESERT  41 

bate  when  we  welcome  an  outsider.  My  wife  is 
becoming  a  little  plaintive,  and  I  a  little  argument 
ative.  Amy,  who  has  no  fancy  for  this  atmosphere 
of  domestic  gloom,  has  retired  up-stairs,  I  believe, 
to  read  some  book  upon  arctic  explorations,  which 
she  finds  a  solace  on  a  day  like  this.  The  point 
at  issue  is,  What  shall  we  do  to  get  out  of  town, 
and  where  shall  we  go  ?  Here  am  I,  with  a  nurs 
ery  full  of  whooping-cough  and  incipient  teeth, 
which  very  naturally  militate  against  a  warm  re 
ception  for  us  anywhere ;  a  charming  sister-in-law, 
who  must  have  the  usual  diversion  of  woman  in 
her  hours  of  ease ;  an  adorably  patient  wife,  who 
has  submitted  to  the  untold  sacrifice  of  staying  in 
town  until  nearly  the  end  of  June." 

"  We  are  growing  positively  cross  under  the 
protracted  indecision,"  Mrs.  Thornton  said.  "We 
talk  of  a  dozen  plans,  and  never  can  agree  on  one 
for  five  minutes  at  a  time.  I  am  afraid" — this 
was  ventured  soothingly — "  Frank  rather  dreads  a 
long  journey  anywhere  just  now." 

"  Rather,"  said  Frank,  grimly.  "  Juvenile  de 
mands  for  paternal  ministrations,  however  sweet 
in  the  sacred  seclusion  of  one's  own  nursery,  do 
not,  as  a  rule,  excite  either  pride  or  joy  in  the  bos 
om  of  a  man  who  must  promenade  forever  back 
and  forth  through  a  railway  car,  with  sandwiches 
and  silver  cups  of  water,  during  all  the  thousand 
hours  of  a  slowly  waning  midsummer  day.  But 
here  comes  Amy  to  lend  her  voice.  Can  you  dis 
cover  Mr.  Erskine,  Amy,  in  this  uncertain  light  ?" 


42  GOLDEN  -  ROD  : 

Erskine  advanced  to  meet  the  slight,  erect  fig 
ure,  to  be  welcomed  in  her  somewhat  high-pitched 
but  clear  and  pleasant  voice. 

"  I  am  not  quite  sure,  Frank  dear,  that  I  mean  to 
be  altogether  civil  to  Mr.  Erskine,  after  the  evening 
last  winter  when  I  talked  at  him,  from  the  oysters  to 
the  coffee,  at  Mrs.  Lyle's  dinner,  and  he  basely  took 
himself  off  without  even  bidding  me  good-night." 

Erskine  remembered  this  occasion  well  enough 
to  feel  a  sharp  pang  at  having  it  recalled.  He 
threw  himself  upon  the  young  lady's  mercy,  and 
was  sufficiently  forgiven  to  have  her  take  a  seat 
near  him  by  the  window,  where  the  light  from  a 
street  lamp  streamed  across  her  cool  pink  muslin 
gown,  her  bare  round  arms,  with  elbow  sleeves, 
and  her  prim  little  white  lace  fichu  with  the  pink 
rose  and  knots  of  black  velvet. 

"  All  will  be  forgiven  and  forgotten,"  said  Miss 
Amy,  "  if  you  will  only  help  me  to  coax  or  coerce 
this  wretched  Frank  and  Gracie  into  submission 
to  my  will.  Give  ear  unto  me,  O  ye  people,  while 
I  test  my  eloquence  !  Imagine,  then,  being  perched 
on  the  deck  of  a  yacht  that  skims  like  a  sea-gull 
over  lovely  little  crested  waves  along  the  coast  of 
Maine.  Every  now  and  then  a  dash  of  salt  spray 
flies  up  on  your  feet  and  petticoats — " 

"  I  can't  imagine  it,  Amy,"  said  Frank. 

"  (Don't,  Frank,  for  I  am  going  to  be  really  im 
pressive) — but  you  don't  mind  it  a  bit,  for  there 
is  the  most  agreeable  man  conceivable — generally 
from  Boston — " 


AN    IDYL    OF    MOUNT    DESERT  43 

"  Thanks,"  said  both  of  the  gentlemen  from 
New  York. 

" — at  your  feet,  quoting  Tennyson's  'Voyage,' 
as  he  gazes  up  at  you.  The  yacht  speeds  glori 
ously  on  her  way  before  a  stiff  breeze  through  a 
region  of  sea  and  mountain,  crag  and  pebbly  beach. 
All  the  crimps  come  out  of  your  hair ;  anchovy 
sandwiches  and  claret-cup  are  passed  about ;  every 
thing  is  delightful — when  suddenly  the  jib-boom, 
or  whatever  the  nasty  thing  is,  comes  sweeping 
round,  and  everybody  has  to  get  up  and  change 
places,  and  ten  to  one  another  girl  gets  your  man." 

"You  are  becoming  too  personal,  Amy,  to  ac 
complish  your  point,"  her  sister  said,  while  they  all 
laughed  at  her  nonsense. 

"  Well,  if  that  don't  tempt  you,  think  of  canoe 
ing  over  to  Bar  Island  on  a  midsummer  day.  Of 
standing  on  the  top  of  Green  Mountain  in  a  breeze. 
Of  sitting  under  the  cliffs  at  The  Ovens,  and  watch 
ing  the  boats  go  by.  Of  catching  trout  in  Eagle 
Lake.  Of  riding  in  a  buck -board  and  shouting 
*  Nancy  Lee.'  Tell  me,  if  you  dare,  individually  or 
collectively,  that  there  is  anything  better  for  us  to 
do  than  to  go  to  Mount  Desert  ?" 

"You  have  omitted  one  of  the  hotel  joys,"  said 
her  brother  (The  Counsellor,  as  he  was  called  by 
most  of  his  friends) — "  that  of  being  served  with 
mackerel  and  doughnuts  at  the  hands  of  a  dis 
guised  princess  wearing  a  celluloid  coronet.  I  re 
member  once  asking  my  particular  one  of  these 
stately  attendants  what  her  name  was.  '  My  name 


44  GOLDEN  -  ROD  I 

is  Mrs.  Somerset,'  she  remarked,  with  withering 
dignity.  *  But  them  as  knows  me  well  calls  me 
Sairey.' " 

The  talk,  turned  into  this  channel,  went  on  un 
til  town — its  gaslights,  the  sidewalks  where  hot 
haggard -looking  people  went  wandering  by,  and 
wan  little  tenement -house  children  crept  out  to 
play  until  far  into  the  night,  the  roll  of  vehicles 
and  tinkling  street-car  bells — had  melted  away  like 
the  scene  of  a  theatre,  to  be  replaced  by  country 
visions  cool  and  beautiful,  where 

"  Only  to  hear  and  see  the  far-off  sparkling  brine — 
Only  to  hear  were  sweet,  stretched  out  beneath  the  pine." 

"  You  have  conquered,  Amy,"  suddenly  remarked 
The  Counsellor.  "  It  is  evident  that  we  have  all 
talked  ourselves  into  a  state  of  mind  for  which 
there  is  no  cure  save  our  beloved  Bar  Harbor.  I 
have  been  turning  over  in  my  brain  a  plan  I  have 
had  proposed  to  me  to  abridge  the  distance,  or  to 
modify  the  weariness  of  the  jaunt  to  those  slumber 
ing  cherubs  up-stairs.  I  think  I  have  hit  it  exactly. 
And  to  put  it  out  of  the  power  of  any  one  to  misin 
terpret  me,  or  to  tell  me  afterwards  that  I  never 
can  make  myself  clearly  understood — " 

"  That  I  never  did,"  said  his  wife,  with  fervor. 

"  — I  hereby  pledge  myself  to  conduct  you  all, 
after  a  method  of  my  own,  as  far  as  Boston.  Only 
I  stipulate  that  no  questions  be  asked;  that  we 
start  this  day  week ;  that  we  don't  go  a  step  unless 


AN   IDYL  OF  MOUNT  DESERT  45 

Erskine  be  of  the  party ;  that  I  am  for  once  cap 
tain  of  my  crew,  with  undisputed  powers.  You 
consent,  Grace,  Amy,  and  Erskine  ?  Then  let  us 
ring  for  Apollinaris  water,  and  hurrah  for  the 
Thornton  family  en  voyage!" 


Ill 


THE  day  before  the  eve  of  our  great  national 
holiday,  when  all  New  York  lay  simmering  with 
heat  and  patriotic  zeal,  ready  to  boil  over  on  the 
glorious  Fourth,  saw  the  Thornton  family  upon  the 
steps  of  their  home  in  one  of  the  avenues,  deliver 
ing  the  keys  of  the  house  into  custody  of  the  mel 
ancholy  female  in  a  crushed  bonnet,  whose  sad  lot 
it  was  to  remain  during  the  next  three  months  en 
tombed  in  an  atmosphere  of  brown  holland,  tete-a- 
tete  with  household  gods  swathed  in  white  or 
shrouded  with  mosquito  gauze. 

The  children,  from  the  front  seat  of  the  carriage, 
behind  a  breastwork  of  rugs,  bags,  and  umbrellas, 
vociferously  condoled  with  that  dejected  personage, 
who  stood  courtesying  within  the  vestibule.  Their 
elders — Mr.  Thornton  in  a  cab,  intending  to  pick 
up  Erskine  at  his  club,  who  got  in  with  a  parting 
look  at  the  mountain  of  luggage  completely  ob 
scuring  from  view  both  horses  and  driver  of  an 
express  wagon — were  themselves  pervaded  with  a 


46  GOLDEN  -  ROD  I 

sense  of  benevolent  pity  for  all  stay-at-homes  of 
whatever  estate  in  life. 

As  they  drove  down  Broadway  after  a  halt  for 
fruit  and  cigars,  the  great  business  world  was  pal 
pitating  through  its  daily  task  at  the  mercy  of  a 
withering  sun.  From  Grace  Church  to  Rector 
Street,  where  the  carriage  turned  from  the  whirl  of 
Broadway  into  a  region  tinctured  with  the  old-time 
dignity  lingering  upon  the  flanks  of  Trinity  Church, 
they  met  a  continuous  line  of  vehicles  so  apparent 
ly  tangled  in  wild  confusion  that  the  chief  dangers 
of  the  route  seemed  to  attend  our  travellers  at  the 
outset. 

Beside  the  pier  where  they  finally  drew  up  a 
large  coasting  steamer,  just  about  to  sail,  awaited 
them. 

"  Here  we  are,"  said  The  Counsellor,  radiantly. 
"  All  aboard,  if  you  please,  ladies  and  gentlemen. 
Until  we  reach  Boston,  at  least,  there  will  be  room 
enough  in  the  world  for  my  restless  young  family." 

The  gloomy  wharf  over  which  their  procession 
passed  presented  an  appearance  very  unlike  those 
most  known  to  New  York  voyagers,  where  several 
times  a  week  gay  birds  of  passage  flutter,  to  be 
wafted  on  their  ocean  voyages  with  flowers  and 
waving  handkerchiefs ;  it  was  encumbered  with 
huge  trucks  loading  or  unloading  freight. 

The  large  dimensions  of  the  steamer  afforded  no 
small  consolation  to  the  depressed  matron  of  the 
party,  when  she  presently  found  herself  politely  as 
sisted  up  what  seemed  Jacob's  own  ladder  hang- 


AN   IDYL  OF  MOUNT   DESERT  47 

ing  in  mid-air,  and  when  her  Blessed  Baby  had 
been  safely  hoisted  after  her.  Across  a  broad 
clean  after-deck,  through  the  cabin,  where  tea  was 
in  readiness,  they  were  conducted  to  spacious  and 
airy  state-rooms.  Nothing  was  lacking  for  comfort. 
These  favored  mortals  were  guests  of  the  line — the 
only  passengers — and,  through  the  courtesy  of  the 
owners,  monarchs  of  all  they  surveyed  for  the  next 
twenty-eight  or  thirty  hours. 

As  they  unpacked  and  disposed  of  their  traps 
the  ship  parted  company  with  her  berth,  and  noise 
lessly  glided  out  into  the  river.  The  absence  of  all 
the  customary  bustle  at  such  a  moment  was  curious 
enough.  Hardly  a  sound  broke  the  silence  from 
either  the  steamer  or  the  wharf.  It  was  like  em 
barking  in  a  phantom  ship,  and  "  quite  deliciously 
mysterious,"  as  Amy  North  observed. 

Rounding  the  Battery,  New  York,  with  all  her 
sins  and  excited  thermometers,  lay  behind  them  ; 
her  towers  and  spires  piercing  through  golden  mist, 
her  shipping  alive  with  the  commerce  of  the  world. 
Under  the  wonderful  arch  of  the  Brooklyn  Bridge 
they  slid  like  a  snake,  and  thence  fresh  winds, 
sighed  for  in  vain  during  the  sultry  days  just  gone, 
wafted  them  on  their  way.  Into  the  troubled  wa 
ters  of  Hell  Gate,  now  lulled  to  repose  by  a  spell 
more  enduring  than  that  which  controlled  the  raging 
Kuhleborn,  leaving  behind  those  beautiful  islands 
condemned  to  the  mournful  uses  of  mad -houses, 
hospitals,  reformatories  and  prison  cells  ;  along  the 
emerald  shores  of  Astoria,  and  so  close  to  the  fringe 


48  GOLDEN -ROD: 

of  salt-meadow  encircling  the  old  Morrisania  man. 
sion  that  they  seemed  to  be  heading  straight  into  the 
rose -wreathed  pillars  of  its  ancient  veranda;  past 
Port  Morris,  and  over  the  spot  where  the  British 
troop-ship  went  down,  with  her  store  of  gold  sent 
out  to  pay  the  redcoats  in  the  Revolutionary  War. 
And  thus  gliding  on,  over  water  so  still  and  shining 
that  sea  and  sky  seemed  blended  into  one,  and  in 
haling  soft  land-breezes,  fraught  with  sweet  odors  of 
new-mown  hay,  that  touched  the  brow  with  a  thrill 
ing  caress,  they  heard  the  sunset  gun  boom  from 
Fort  Schuyler,  and  watched  the  evening-star  trem 
bling  into  light. 

The  little  ones,  who  had  romped  over  the  deck, 
sniffing  the  pure  sea-breeze,  until  already  a  redder 
tinge  had  come  into  their  cheeks,  retired  to  rest 
with  cheerful  unconcern  of  their  surroundings.  A 
double  berth  received  the  younger  two,  dexterously 
imbedded  at  either  end,  like  apples  in  a  dumpling. 
No  apparition  of  the  terrors  of  Point  Judith  assailed 
them,  as  through  the  long  bright  summer  night  the 
steamer  ploughed  peacefully  over  the  smooth  waters 
of  the  Sound.  Not  so  fared  Mrs.  Thornton,  who, 
having  announced  that  she  should  be  sick  while 
skirting  that  "still-vex'd  Bermoothes,"  had  made 
up  her  mind  to  fulfil  the  prophecy  at  any  cost,  and 
was  naturally  indignant  when  not  the  least  excuse 
offered  for  doing  so.  Amy  declared  of  Grace  that 
she  was  like  the  old  lady  of  blessed  memory  who 
always  slept  with  an  umbrella  and  galoshes,  to  be 
ready  for  every  emergency.  So  she  braced  herself 


AN   IDYL  OF   MOUNT  DESERT  49 

for  the  tribulation  that  ought  to  have  come,  and 
about  four  o'clock  in  the  morning  arose  resolutely, 
made  her  toilet  with  unshrinking  hand,  and  went 
out  on  deck  to  battle  with  the  foe.  Boisterous 
Point  Judith  was  asleep  and  peaceable  enough,  but 
the  witchery  of  the  scene,  reluctantly  abandoned 
late  the  night  before,  was  gone.  The  deck  was 
saturated  by  fog,  shutting  out  all  about  them,  save 
the  long  billows  softly  powdered  with  yeasty  foam 
from  the  ship's  sides.  Everything  was  woe-begone. 
An  occasional  sailor  gave  the  only  evidence  of  life, 
and  he  slunk  by  her,  dripping.  Moisture  exuded 
from  every  pore  of  the  ship ;  the  rigging  streamed 
with  it,  and  comfort  was  nowhere  to  be  found.  In 
the  desolation  of  the  moment  a  qualm  of  sea-sick 
ness  would  have  been  almost  a  relief.  But  no ; 
nothing  suggested  itself  but  a  feeling  of  general 
forlornness,  induced  by  the  hour  and  the  outlook. 
It  was  not  until  the  benevolent  steward,  observing 
this  solitary  waif  on  deck,  had  brought  a  cup  of  tea 
and  a  ship-biscuit  that  Mrs.  Thornton's  spirits  rose 
to  a  level  the  plummet  could  fathom.  She  needed 
them  all  to  meet  the  merciless  banter  that  awaited 
her  from  her  husband. 

When  breakfast  was  ready  the  rest  of  the  par 
ty  appeared,  looking  generally  bright  and  hearty. 
They  sat  around  the  captain's  table,  on  high  stools, 
like  school-boys  en  penitence;  and  then  it  was  that 
Blessed  Baby  revelled  in  unwonted  dishes,  bolting, 
Amy  asserted,  a  " plumbiferous  doughnut"  and  a 
pickled  cucumber,  as  the  polite  steward,  according 


50  GOLDEN -ROD: 

him  a  dignity  hitherto  unattained,  deferentially 
handed  everything  in  turn. 

The  officers  of  the  ship,  clustered  around  the 
lower  end  of  the  table,  formed  a  characteristic 
group.  Distinctively  American  in  feature,  they  sat 
in  serious,  almost  melancholy,  silence,  eagerly  dis 
cussing  a  variety  of  dishes.  The  captain — a  gruff, 
hearty  man,  bearded  like  a  pard — was  scarcely  seen 
in  the  cabin  during  the  voyage,  but  addicted  him 
self  to  the  pilot-house,  with  a  watchful  devotion  to 
duty  as  a  navigator,  which  explained  the  fact  that, 
amid  the  many  dangers  of  fogs  and  shoals,  there 
had  been  for  eight  years  not  one  accident  to  a  ship 
of  this  line.  "  Never  see  the  captain  down  below 
when  there's  a  fog  like  this,"  remarked  one  of  the 
officers — an  announcement  as  cheering  as  anything 
could  be  in  a  "fog  like  this." 

Dreary  enough  is  this  phase  of  coast -voyaging, 
and  against  it  one  may  never  be  altogether  secure. 

When  Point  Judith  was  left  behind,  and  the  ship 
had  sailed  into  Vineyard  Sound,  the  gray  curtain 
hung  heavy  around  them,  and  the  hoarse,  discord 
ant  whistle  kept  calling,  to  be  answered  by  whistle 
or  bell  from  shore  or  light-ship,  or  by  the  whistle  of 
a  steamer  or  the  horn  of  a  sailing  vessel,  near  by 
but  invisible.  The  sun  struggled  sharply  with  the 
fog,  and  from  time  to  time  conquered  it,  the  envious 
drapery  lifting  for  an  instant  to  reveal  picturesque 
glimpses  of  the  main-land,  or  of  the  camp-meeting 
grounds  at  Martha's  Vineyard,  where  the  white  roofs 
rising  amid  foliage,  and  the  green  waters  of  a  little 


AN    IDYL   OF   MOUNT   DESERT  51 

bay  dancing  in  the  sunlight,  fairly  dazzled  the  eyes 
with  brightness.  At  such  a  moment  the  fog  melted 
away  as  if  by  magic ;  the  constant  vigil  of  the  look 
out  in  the  bows  was  relaxed ;  the  raucous  whistle 
of  the  steam-pipe  ceased ;  the  decks  were  dried  by 
sparkling  sunshine ;  a  fresh  breeze  enlivened  every 
thing  ;  the  order  was  given  to  go  ahead,  and  the 
ship  fairly  sprung  forward  in  a  merry  race  with  the 
crested  billows.  Our  party,  gathered  under  an  awn 
ing  on  deck,  felt  the  general  exultation.  The  Coun 
sellor  rebounded  from  the  pressure  of  feminine  re 
proaches  heaped  upon  him  during  the  fog,  because, 
forsooth,  he  had  decoyed  his  family  into  cette galere. 
He  took  heart  of  grace  now,  and  waxed  facetious, 
aiming  witticisms  at  his  tormentor,  who  somewhat 
reluctantly  consented  to  smile  once  more.  Amy 
and  Erskine  walked  vigorously  up  and  down  the 
decks.  The  children,  happy  beings,  had  rioted 
madly  all  day — into  the  rigging,  on  top  of  the  awn 
ing,  everywhere  —  had  romped  with  their  father, 
their  aunty,  and  Erskine,  and  had  made  frequent 
visits  to  the  steward  and  the  two  black  cooks,  which 
generally  resulted  in  pockets  stuffed  with  edibles. 
Even  the  Blessed  Baby,  emulating  his  predecessors, 
toddled  off  on  excursions  of  his  own  devising,  and 
parleyed  with  the  smiling  darkies,  who  leaned  out 
of  the  galley  windows,  affecting  an  inability  to  in 
terpret  the  assiduous  repetition  of  "  Cookey,  cakey," 
pronounced  in  every  accent  from  entreaty  to  com 
mand.  Their  maid  had  quite  as  much  exercise  in 
that  one  day  as  was  good  for  her,  following  the  va- 


52  GOLDEN -ROD: 

garies  and  suppressing  the  dangerous  freaks  of  her 
youthful  charges. 

The  only  officer  to  be  seen  on  the  after-deck  was 
the  chief  engineer,  who,  like  a  whale  coming  to  the 
surface  for  an  occasional  breath  of  air,  ascended 
now  and  then  from  cavernous  depths,  where,  as  the 
children  were  told  by  Erskine,  he  had  charge  of  a 
mighty  monster  which,  attended  by  half  a  dozen 
slaves  to  feed  it  on  live  coals,  lay  chained  at  the 
bottom  of  the  ship.  A  zealous  politician  was  the 
chief,  and  great  solace  he  found  in  fighting  over 
again  with  The  Counsellor  the  battles  of  the  few 
months  preceding  March,  1877.  With  an  entire  de 
votion  to  his  leader,  and  a  serious  scorn  of  the 
"man  in  the  White  House,"  he  asked  after  the 
health  of  "his  Excellency  the  President,  who  lives 
in  Gramercy  Park."  Something  of  a  reader  withal 
he  was ;  and  Mrs.  Thornton's  hopeless  application 
for  a  book,  during  the  reign  of  the  fog,  elicited  quite 
a  library  from  the  upper  berth  of  his  state-room 
— odd  volumes  of  Shakespeare,  Byron,  Tyndall, 
Draper's  Conflict  of  Religion  and  Science,  Dickens, 
and  Lever. 

"We  haven't  got  rid  of  that  pest  yet,"  said  the 
chief,  at  a  moment  of  general  rejoicing  over  the 
sun ;  "  unless  the  wind  changes,  it  will  be  down  on 
us  again.  Look  at  that  fog-bank  over  there." 

To  the  eastward  the  white  column  was  indeed 
drawing  near  again,  and  there  a  beautiful  spectacle 
presented  itself  of  a  ship's  tops  shining  in  the  sun 
while  all  the  rest  was  veiled  in  low-lying  mist.  The 


AN   IDYL    OF    MOUNT    DESERT.  53 

fog  settled  again,  thicker  than  before,  the  engine 
slowed,  and  the  captain  announced  he  should  go 
no  farther.  "  You  will  spend  your  Fourth  on 
board,"  he  remarked,  with  grim  pleasantry — a  pros 
pect  rather  refreshing  than  otherwise  to  passengers 
flying  from  the  exuberant  patriotism  of  a  great  city, 
though,  it  must  be  confessed,  the  surroundings  of 
that  narrow  and  often  crowded  channel  in  Nantuck- 
et  Shoals  were  not  the  most  desirable  for  a  pro 
tracted  sojourn  in  a  fog.  The  deafening  and  in 
cessant  steam-pipe  overhead,  and  warning  notes 
from  light-ships,  now  made  the  situation  more  de 
pressing  than  before.  They  seemed  to  be  set 
apart  from  the  rest  of  the  universe,  to  be  hover 
ing  in  a  new  world  of  nebulae,  through  which 
nothing  but  sound  could  come  ever  to  them.  But 
that  coquettish  curtain  arose  again  presently,  and 
again  the  ship  gave  one  of  her  glad  bounds  for 
ward.  Only  for  a  moment  ;  down  it  fell  once 
more  ;  and  a  heedless  schooner  sheering  off  and 
shooting  aside  just  then,  as  she  came  unheralded 
out  of  the  fog-bank  full  upon  the  bows  of  their 
steamer,  gave  them  a  thrill,  with  sense  of  great 
danger  escaped. 

"  We  have  to  do  the  looking  out  for  these  schoon 
ers,"  said  one  of  the  mates  ;  "  and  when  they  don't 
blow  their  horns,  and  by  their  own  fault  run  into 
us,  we  are  called  on  to  pay  damages  all  the 
same." 

The  last  of  the  line  of  light-ships  in  Nantucket 
Shoals  marks  the  end  of  the  narrow  channel,  through 


54  GOLDEN -ROD: 

which  mariners  steer  cautiously,  until  deep  water 
and  the  broad  swell  of  the  Atlantic  invite  them  to 
sail  on  fearlessly  and  fast.  These  light-ships,  fully 
manned,  and  anchored  from  point  to  point,  provide 
various  signals  of  warning  by  whistle  or  bell  so 
different  that  no  one  can  be  mistaken  for  any  other. 
In  the  great  gales  of  winter  they  sometimes  break 
from  their  moorings,  and  go  cruising  down  the 
coast,  before  making  head  against  the  storm. 

The  last  of  these  light-ships,  Polycripp  by  name, 
announced  herself  to  our  travellers  by  a  sound 
issuing  from  the  encompassing  pillar  of  cloud 
so  inexpressibly  mournful  and  harrowing  to  the 
susceptible  spirit,  that  the  children,  struck  with 
mortal  fear,  rushed  precipitately  to  the  shelter  of 
parental  arms,  and  hid  their  heads,  crying,  "  Oh, 
papa !  suppose  it  should  be  the  sea-serpent!"  "The 
Sea-Serpent "  Polycripp  was  forthwith  dubbed,  and 
no  persuasions  could  induce  one  of  the  youngsters 
to  desert  his  rock  of  safety  until  quite  out  of  hear 
ing  of  that  awful  wailing  sound.  All  that  could  be 
seen  of  little  Frank,  not  dangling  legs  or  a  very  brief 
kilt  petticoat,  was  a  mass  of  golden  curls  blown 
across  a  rosy  cheek  and  over  the  neck  where  his 
sturdy  arms  were  tightly  locked. 

In  memory  of  Polycripp,  Erskine  made  a  sketch 
in  water-colors  of  the  sea-serpent,  fearfully  and 
wonderfully  imagined,  riding  at  ease  upon  gigantic 
billows,  and  breathing  on  a  bar  of  music  the  notes 
of  his  horrible  chant.  The  small  voyager  was  hence 
forth  fully  persuaded  that  with  his  own  eyes  he 


AN    IDYL   OF   MOUNT   DESERT  55 

actually  saw  the  original  of  the  picture,  and  it  had 
for  him  ever  after  a  baleful  fascination. 

"  The  wind  is  veering,  we  are  through  the  Shoals, 
and  you  are  out  of  jail  now,"  was  the  captain's 
cheerful  announcement,  as  at  last  he  came  below 
to  take  a  mouthful  of  dinner  long  deferred. 

"  O  blessed  west  wind,  that  springs  up  to  banish 
our  foe !"  cried  Amy.  "  O  stern  and  rock-bound 
coast  of  Massachusetts  !" — ("  which  is  here  all  a 
level  beach  of  fine  sand,"  interpolated  her  brother- 
in-law) —  "how  beautiful  you  look,  with  the  last 
wreath  of  mist  vanishing  under  a  glorious  afternoon 
sun !"  And  now  picture  them,  ye  sweltering  den 
izens  of  the  workaday  world,  to  whom  also  this 
delight  is  possible.  They  are  sitting,  a  happy  group, 
on  the  broad  deck,  wrapped  in  plaids — the  breeze 
is  stiff  and  cool  from  the  wide  Atlantic.  The  good 
ship,  released  from  her  curb,  fairly  bounds  forward 
like  a  thorough-bred  steed.  The  white  surface  of 
the  sea  breaks  up  in  crests  of  foam.  Sails  are  set, 
and  wind  and  steam  speed  them  swiftly  towards  the 
beacon  held  out  on  the  crooked  finger  of  Cape  Cod. 
And  ever  and  again,  mingled  with  the  pure  smell  of 
the  salt  waves,  comes  a  whiff  from  the  shore  scented 
with  the  freshly-cut  grass ;  all  New  England  is  mak 
ing  hay  to-day. 

And  thus  it  is  through  all  the  lovely  afternoon, 
and  until  evening  closes  in,  when  the  little  ones  fall 
asleep  the  moment  their  tired,  busy  heads  touch 
the  pillows — no  cradle-song  required  save  the  con 
stant  lapping  of  the  sea  against  the  flanks  of  the 


56  GOLDEN -ROD: 

ship.  In  the  waning  sunlight  they  had  looked  bet 
ter,  brighter,  stronger,  than  for  weeks  before.  They 
had  eaten  as  voraciously  as  young  birds.  Their 
faces  had  grown  brown  as  berries,  and  their  spirits 
were  exhausting. 

Those  left  on  deck  experienced  now  an  hour — 
was  it  ?  or  two,  or  three  ? — altogether  delightful, 
and  worth  all  the  anxiety  aroused  by  all  the  fogs 
that  could  have  gone  before.  Leaving  Cape  Cod 
behind,  they  swiftly  crossed  the  dancing  waters  of 
Massachusetts  Bay,  allured  by  the  at  first  distant 
speck  of  brightness  from  Boston  Light,  that  deep 
ened  and  broadened  into  a  pathway  of  glory  lead 
ing  them  into  the  harbor.  Our  travellers  paced  the 
deck  as  tireless  as  the  two  mute  shapes  on  the  for 
ward  watch  who  crossed  and  recrossed  continually 
from  starboard  to  port,  from  port  to  starboard — the 
only  other  moving  things  visible  under  the  black 
silhouette  of  the  rigging  against  the  starry  sky. 
Grace  seized  her  husband's  arm  and  bore  him  away 
in  triumph.  Sometimes  they  dreamily  lingered  in 
the  stern  of  the  vessel,  watching  her  track  in  the 
phosphorescent  waves  ;  then  they  were  seized  with 
a  fit  of  diligent  pedestrianism,  stirring  all  the  blood 
within  their  veins  ;  then  they  relapsed  again,  and, 
like  Mr.  Wegg,  "  dropped  into  poetry,"  in  a  friendly 
way.  They  were  surprised  at  their  own  eloquence, 
so  many  similes,  poetical  situations,  and  flowers  of 
fancy  came  to  the  lips.  It  was  really  a  tourney  of 
lofty  sentiment ;  and  when  the  moon  showed  forth, 
and  the  harbor  lights  began  to  gather,  as  they 


AN   IDYL  OF  MOUNT   DESERT  57 

threaded  their  way  past  one  after  another  anchored 
and  motionless  vessel,  and  the  far-away  gleams  from 
the  shore  increased  in  number,  Grace  heaved  a  sigh 
born  of  regret.  "  We  are  almost  in.  This  has  been 
too  lovely  for  anything.  But  there  is  one  great 
mistake  :  it  ought  to  have  been  a  honeymoon,"  she 
whispered,  clinging  to  her  husband's  arm.  "  You 
are  just  ten  years  too  late  with -your  suggestion," 
she  was  answered,  politely ;  "  but  I'll  remember  it 
next  time,  darling." 

The  spell  was  broken.  Not  all  the  charms  of  sea 
and  sky,  not  even  the  elevating  reflection  that  they 
had  now  reached  the  very  Hub  of  the  Universe, 
could  keep  her  on  deck  after  that.  She  was  "  aw 
fully  sleepy ;"  had  "  been  so  for  a  long,  long  time  ;" 
wondered  "  why  Amy  had  taken  herself  away  with 
Mr.  Erskine,  when  it  was  so  much  more  jolly  all 
together;"  and  "must  and  would  go  in." 

Perhaps  if  you  had  questioned  Erskine,  he  would 
have  avowed  a  decided  preference  for  being  left  to 
himself,  to  indulge  the  haunting  memories  he  loved 
to  conjure  up.  But  a  man  would  have  been  a  churl 
to  resist  the  bright  and  hearty,  almost  boyish,  com 
radeship  of  Amy  North,  who  was  a  desperate  walker, 
and  had  not  an  ounce  of  superfluous  sentiment  in 
her  composition.  Erskine  found  himself  happily 
exercised  out  of  his  melancholy,  and  also  out  of 
breath,  when  Miss  North  reluctantly  followed  her 
sister  into  the  cabin. 


58  GOLDEN -ROD: 


IV 


THEY  had  resolved  to  remain  on  board  rather 
than  disturb  the  happy  little  dreamers  in  the  nur 
sery  state-room.  It  was  midnight  when  the  good 
ship  touched  her  Boston  dock,  and  a  sound  night's 
rest  brought  Grace  to  five  o'clock  in  the  morning 
of  the  Fourth  of  July,  when  she  awoke  to  listen  to 
a  monotonous  voice  counting  out  thousands  of 
Long  Island  cabbages,  consigned,  as  part  of  the 
ship's  cargo,  by  New  York  to  aesthetic  Boston  folk. 

Unable  to  sleep,  she,  with  the  eldest  of  her  lads, 
reflecting  that  years  might  probably  elapse  before 
another  opportunity  to  view  the  habitable  globe  at 
that  hour  should  occur,  determined  to  make  the 
most  of  her  impressions.  They  got  ashore  from  a 
slippery  rope-ladder  by  the  aid  of  a  kindly  boat 
swain,  and  wandered  around  the  docks  and  adja 
cent  streets  —  all  very  unlike  New  York.  There 
was  no  commotion  or  crowd ;  there  were  many 
queer  old  buildings,  some  of  them  with  walls  slated 
downward,  and  steep  wooden  roofs.  Everything 
was  clean  and  practicable  for  a  lady's  feet,  and  a 
general  air  of  antique  respectability  pervaded  the 
quarter.  A  strong  flavor  of  salt  characterized  the 
whole  neighborhood.  Everything  was  of  the  sea, 
or  for  the  use  of  men  that  go  down  to  it  in  ships. 
The  docks  themselves,  the  outgoing  and  incoming 


AN  IDYL  OF  MOUNT   DESERT  59 

ships,  had  an  endless  charm  for  the  little  lad.  He 
speculated  upon  the  ports  whither  these  vessels 
would  sail,  with  a  fatal  precision  in  geography,  lat 
itude  and  longitude,  exports  and  imports,  that  put 
his  mother's  rustier  memory  to  the  blush. 

"  Mamma,  I  can't  exactly  remember  what  coun 
tries  the  Lesser  Antilles  belong  to;  can  you?"  he 
said,  musingly,  when,  to  her  great  relief,  his  atten 
tion  became  suddenly  distracted  to  the  stand  of  a 
cherry -woman  close  by,  who  dealt  also  in  ginger 
bread  and  torpedoes. 

Torpedoes  !  This  brought  her  back  to  the  fact 
of  the  Fourth  of  July,  and  aroused  in  her  a  desire 
to  get  out  of  the  Cradle  of  Liberty  as  rapidly  as 
possible. 

"  We  will  go  to  the  Parker  House  for  breakfast, 
Frank,"  she  said,  returning  to  arouse  the  occupant 
of  state-room  No.  — .  "  Then  we  can  take  our  time 
about  going  aboard  the  other  ship." 

"The  fact  is,"  said  guilty  Frank,  who  had  gone 
to  sleep  in  full  consciousness  of  his  blunder,  "there's 
no  other  ship ;  at  least,  she  does  not  sail  till  to 
morrow  afternoon.  I  ought  to  have  found  that  out 
before,  but  I  didn't.  I'm  awfully  sorry,  Grace, 
indeed." 

"  And  my  poor  children  are  to  spend  a  day 
—  no,  two  days  and  a  night  —  at  a  hot  hotel  in 
town !"  Mrs.  Thornton  said,  with  awful  calm.  "  I 
shouldn't  be  a  bit  surprised  if  it  were  to  kill  the 
Baby,  Frank.  Poor  little  drooping  thing !" 

At  this  moment  arose  from  the  adjoining  state- 


60  GOLDEN -ROD: 

room  a  joyful  uproar.  A  contraband  load  of  torpe 
does  had  been  introduced  to  the  awakening  cherubs 
by  their  older  brother,  and  despite  the  remon 
strances  of  nurse,  all  three  of  them  were  engaged 
in  wildly  hurling  the  offensive  missiles  wherever 
they  would  strike.  Loudest  among  the  war-cries  of 
these  night-gowned  conspirators  arose  the  delighted 
squeal  of  Baby. 

"We  will  take  train  to  Portland,"  the  Counsellor 
said,  taking  advantage  of  a  reluctant  smile. 

"  Oh,  very  well,"  said  his  wife,  with  a  resigned 
look.  "  Only,  if  we  had  known  it  in  time,  we  might 
have  stopped  over  with  the  Rutledges  in  Brookline 
— a  visit  I  have  so  long  promised  to  make." 

"  Yes,  and  have  given  their  new  baby  the  whoop 
ing-cough — that  dreadful  malady  now  preying  upon 
our  enfeebled  ranks." 

They  had  left  the  good  ship  ere  long,  and  were 
off  to  the  Eastern  Railway  station,  where  jostling, 
perspiring  throngs  of  eager  holiday  folk  already 
pouring  into  every  train  made  them  think  tenderly 
of  the  quiet  scenes  of  yesterday.  Securing  seats  in 
a  car,  they  checked  their  many  trunks,  their  baby 
carriage,  and  their  tubs,  disposed  of  their  numerous 
parcels  in  the  racks,  and  instantly  all  that  was 
picturesque  in  their  journey  had  departed.  The 
Blessed  Baby,  from  a  winsome  brown-eyed  water 
sprite  became  a  mere  mortal  infant,  howling  even 
at  that  early  hour  of  the  day,  with  heat  and  weari 
ness.  The  golden-haired  traveller,  aged  four  and  a 
half,  who  had,  at  sea,  bewitched  admiring  eyes  with 


AN  IDYL  OF  MOUNT  DESERT  6l 

bright  looks  and  countless  vagaries,  now  visited  the 
company  with  a  public  outburst  of  whooping-cough, 
scattering  their  fellow  -  voyagers  from  the  adjacent 
seats.  Thornton  and  Erskine  retired  into  another 
car,  with  a  feeble  attempt  to  look  as  if  they  had 
nothing  to  do  with  the  temporary  centre  of  dis 
turbance. 

Many  a  book  has  been  condemned  as  a  conse 
quence  of  sleepless  nights,  shooting  corns,  or  in 
digestion  falling  to  the  lot  of  the  reviewer.  More 
than  one  traveller  has  set  the  seal  of  general  con 
demnation  on  the  town  where  he  has  been  ill-lodged, 
ill-fed,  or  ill-attended,  without  regard  to  its  actual 
merit.  A  sense  of  justice,  therefore,  blots  forever 
from  this  page  the  beautiful  city  of  Portland,  whose 
commanding  position,  stately  homes,  and  wide  elm- 
arched  streets  deserve  more  than  our  travellers, 
groaning  under  the  recollection  of  their  stop  at  a 
great,  pretentious,  badly-kept  hotel,  are  willing  to 
concede  in  praise. 

"  Impossible  to  stay  here  twenty  hours  more  to 
meet  the  Lewiston"  The  Counsellor  said,  woe-be- 
gone. 

"  Let  us  go  —  anyhow,  anywhere,"  Grace  and 
Amy  said,  imploringly ;  and  they  boarded  a  mid 
day  train  for  Rockland. 

A  good-natured  jog-trot  old  train  it  proved  to 
be,  that  began  by  waiting  in  the  hot  station  until, 
like  an  ogre,  it  had  gorged  itself  with  babies; 
then,  after  running  a  little  way,  stopped  so  long 
(without  any  visible  reason)  that  The  Counsellor 


62  GOLDEN  -  ROD  : 

and  Erskine  got  out  and  wiled  away  the  time  by 
gathering  bunches  of  daisies,  at  which  the  town- 
bred  children  clapped  their  hands  with  delight, 
and  every  straw- hat  in  the  party  was  speedily 
enriched  with  a  wreath.  In  and  out  passed  hard- 
featured,  shuffling,  brown -faced  men  and  women, 
recognizing  each  other  with  demure  cordiality,  and 
sitting  down  to  talk  over  the  events  that  dot  the 
shepherd's  calendar  in  nasal  monotone  rather 
soothing  to  the  ear.  Our  ladies  found  themselves 
deeply  interested  in  the  fate  of  "  Sarah  Jane's 
speckled  hen,"  which  "  might  'a  sot  an'  sot  till  she'd 
'a  tuk  root,  an'  never  would  'a  hatched ;"  while 
The  Counsellor  renounced  a  newspaper,  and  gave 
his  whole  mind  to  a  discussion  of  doctrines  be 
tween  two  long-haired  deacons  on  the  seat  behind 
him — all  about  infant  damnation  and  orthodoxy  in 
general.  The  car  was  furthermore  illumined  by 
the  presence  in  the  flesh  of  no  less  a  personage 
than  Mrs.  Gamp  —  a  native  of  Maine,  off  duty,  so 
voluble  in  her  confidences  to  all  in  ear- shot  that 
none  could  remain  in  ignorance  of  her  affairs,  or 
escape  the  information  that  her  occupation  was 
plied  at  the  Hub,  "  because  in  Boston  I  can  make 
a  sight  more  money  than  here,  with  half  the 
work."  Mrs.  Gamp  wore  a  bonnet  and  carried  a 
bandbox  of  the  size  and  style  our  grandmothers 
kept  on  remote  shelves,  embalmed  with  sprigs  of 
lavender  ;  an  umbrella,  of  course.  Not  more  than 
half  a  dozen  teeth  remained  to  her,  and  the  local 
ity  of  each  of  those  was  continually  revealed  by 


AN   IDYL   OF   MOUNT  DESERT  63 

a  smile  bestowed  impartially  on  friends  and  stran 
gers.  She  was  a  constant  patron  to  the  boy  who 
peddled  lozenges,  figs,  and  prize  candy.  She  im 
bibed  oranges  until  the  odor  filled  the  air.  She 
had  a  gossip  on  the  seat  beside  her — ("  Perhaps, 
oh !  perhaps  it  is  the  veritable  Mrs.  Harris !" 
whispered  Amy) — to  receive  confidences  of  joys 
and  sorrows  in  a  ceaseless  stream.  Her  greatest 
pride  in  life  seemed  to  be  a  certain  "  Marier," 
of  whom  it  was  proudly  remarked  "  she  kep'  two 
girls."  The  exact  progress  of  the  invalid  she  had 
last  attended  was  clearly  narrated  with  scientific 
precision,  and  her  harangues  went  on  amplifying 
until  everybody's  attention  was  monopolized.  At 
one  period  her  roving  eye  fell  upon  the  Blessed 
Baby,  whose  healthy  sleep  on  a  couch  of  shawls, 
one  dimpled  fist  near  his  rosy  cheek,  was  occasion 
ally  interrupted  by  a  cough.  "  I  kinder  mistrust 
that  whooping-cough  in  a  teethin'  child,"  she  re 
marked,  cheerfully.  "  Ef  it  don't  kill  'em  outright, 
it  generally  goes  to  the  brain,  they  say,  and  makes 
'em  weak  like.  Did  I  ever  tell  you  the  time  Marier 
had  with  her  young  un  in  the  whooping-cough  ?  It 
jest  wasted  and  wasted  " —  But  at  this  point  the 
mother  of  the  Baby  could  bear  no  more,  and  moved 
to  the  end  of  the  car  farthest  from  Mrs.  Gamp, 
whom  she  now  knew  to  be  a  vampire. 

The  country  they  were  passing  through  was  full 
of  quiet  rural  beauties,  its  green  hill-sides  covered 
with  hay-cocks,  and  cows  everywhere  sought  the 
shade  of  trees  that  hung  their  branches  low  over 


64  GOLDEN -ROD: 

placid  streams.  The  railway  skirts  the  coast,  and 
comes  suddenly  upon  many  a  picturesque  little  vil 
lage,  where  the  deep  waters  lie  locked  in  the  hills. 
One  looks  in  astonishment  at  the  tall  masts  of  ves 
sels  arising  amid  trees,  where  they  have  found  safe 
harbor.  "  The  ship-building  industries  seem  to  be 
looking  up,"  said  The  Counsellor.  "  During  the 
war  these  fellows,  finding  their  occupation  gone, 
took  the  field,  away  down  in  far  Virginia,  and  made 
some  of  the  best  soldiers  the  North  brought  forth. 
See,  Grace,  the  vertebrae  of  these  vessels  stretched 
upon  the  stocks. 

"  'Ere  long  will  we  launch 

A  vessel  as  goodly  and  strong  and  stanch 
As  ever  weathered  a  wintry  sea. 
Timber  of  chestnut  and  elm  and  oak, 
Cedar  of  Maine  and  Georgia  Pine, 
Here  together  shall  combine.'  " 

At  Bath  their  train,  reduced  by  this  time  to  two 
cars,  was  taken  upon  a  boat,  and  ferried  across  the 
Kennebec — a  noble  river,  fed  by  Moosehead  Lake. 

The  spirits  of  the  party  began  to  rise,  as  they 
stood  upon  the  rear  platform  of  the  car,  and  filled 
their  lungs  with  fresh,  exhilarating  air. 

When  Rockland  was  reached,  and  their  hearts 
made  glad  by  a  hotel  with  clean  beds,  clean  table 
cloths,  and  a  palatable  bill  of  fare,  the  tired  chil 
dren  were  left  to  rest,  and  our  travellers  strolled 
down  after  supper  to  the  wharf,  and  stood  there 
gazing  out  upon  the  broad  expanse  of  the  Penob- 


AN   IDYL  OF   MOUNT  DESERT  65 

scot  Bay,  across  which,  on  the  morrow,  they  were 
to  set  sail  in  quest  of  the  enchanted  isle  of  Mount 
Desert. 

Erskine  withdrew  himself  from  the  others,  and 
climbed  out  upon  a  projection  from  the  pier.  Amy, 
Grace,  and  The  Counsellor  left  him  sitting  there, 
and  went  off  to  explore  the  village.  In  a  green 
yard  where  they  were  tempted  to  pause  and  look,  a 
young  woman  was  raking  new-mown  hay,  occasion 
ally  tossing  it  over  a  little  child,  and  the  house  wall 
behind  her  was  covered  with  a  vine  of  sweet  old- 
fashioned  white  roses.  Grace  begged  for  a  rose, 
and  the  woman,  with  a  smile,  broke  off  a  generous 
cluster,  and  gave  it  to  the  child,  who  trotted  to  the 
palings  and  laid  it  in  her  hand. 

The  sun  was  setting ;  a  church-bell  rang  for  even 
ing  prayers.  Erskine's  unsatisfied  spirit  experi 
enced  a  strange  peace.  The  journey  hither,  in  com 
pany  with  these  kind  and  cheerful  people,  these 
joyous  children,  had  been  just  what  he  required. 
For  Amy  he  had  conceived  a  very  sincere  regard. 
She  made  no  exactions  of  him,  or  of  any  man.  Fun, 
enterprise,  excitement,  were  the  breath  of  her  nos 
trils.  Her  assumption  of  little  mannish  ways 
amused  Erskine,  where  a  demand  for  compliment 
would  have  bored  him  utterly.  Altogether  he  felt 
better  and  more  hopeful  than  he  had  done  for 
months. 


66  GOLDEN  -  ROD : 


ON  board  the  little  steamer  Houghton  next  day 
our  party  fell  in  with  a  party  of  Boston  pilgrims, 
bound  to  the  same  "  haven  where  they  fain  would 
be."  Established  upon  deck,  with  shawls  and 
books  and  lunch  baskets,  they  defied  the  white- 
caps  on  Penobscot  Bay  that  frightened  quite  a 
number  of  their  fellow  -  passengers  into  seeking 
sofas  down  below.  Amy,  with  her  hands  in  the 
pockets  of  a  long  ulster  (made  by  her  brother-in- 
law's  tailor,  and  the  pride  of  her  life),  with  a  derby 
hat  and  a  cardinal  silk  neck-handkerchief,  walked 
gayly  up  and  down. 

We  have  no  coast-line  to  compare  in  beauty  and 
variety  with  that  of  Maine.  Its  jagged  outline 
breaks  up  into  a  thousand  picturesque  caprices  of 
cape  and  bay  and  headland;  while  islands,  sown 
like  emeralds  from  a  sieve,  are  scattered  in  count 
less  numbers  in  a  field  of  waves.  Here  masses  of 
stern  gray  rock  arise  from  the  seething  surf;  a 
boat's  length  farther  on  some  sparkling  little  fiord 
opens  through  greenest  meadows.  Here  is  a  cave, 
tinted  with  all  the  gorgeous  coloring  that  ever  daz 
zled  Aladdin  in  his  jewelled  hall,  where  in  crystal 
pools  lurk  a  hundred  living  wonders  of  the  sea,  and 
at  high  tide  the  great  waves  go  booming  in  with  a 
voice  of  thunder.  Close  beside  it  is  some  tiny  bay, 


AN   IDYL  OF  MOUNT   DESERT  67 

tinted  like  "  strips  of  the  sky,  fallen  through  from 
on  high,"  and  all  unruffled  by  the  wind.  Under  a 
summer  sun,  what  voyage  can  be  more  delightful 
than  a  run  in  and  out  of  the  islands  from  Rockland 
to  Bar  Harbor  ?  The  cheery  little  steamer,  recover 
ing  from  the  rude  treatment  of  the  broad  Penob- 
scot,  moved  soberly  upon  North  Haven,  where  a 
row-boat  was  in  waiting  with  two  passengers  and  a 
trunk  to  be  hoisted  on  board.  After  this  operation 
they  lost  no  time,  but  steamed  away  across  the 
bay  of  Isle  au  Haut  (pronounced  "  Illyhut "  in  the 
vernacular)  to  Deer  Island,  where  all  the  population 
had  gathered  to  receive  an  attenuated  mail -bag, 
and  a  few  egg  boxes  returned  from  Rockland  to  be 
refilled. 

"And  now,"  said  the  kindly  captain,  "you  will 
see  an  island  for  every  day  in  the  year ;  and  if 
you  like  to  buy  and  settle  hereabouts,  we  can  sell 
you  any  one  of  them  you  take  a  fancy  to  very 
cheap."  The  eldest  of  Thornton's  boys,  with  a 
small  sum  of  money  burning  holes  in  his  trousers 
pockets,  pursued  the  captain  with  a  thousand  eager 
questions  and  presently  came  to  his  father,  fired 
with  zeal  for  the  purchase  of  "that  nice  round 
island  over  yonder ;  the  captain  says  I  may  have 
it  for  five  dollars,  or  this  lovely  little  bit  of  a  one 
for  seventy-five  cents." 

In  and  out  between  granite  ledges  crowned  with 
spruce  and  fir,  the  little  steamer  winds  her  busy 
way;  and  after  passing  through  York  Narrows, 
with  Black  Island  to  the  northward,  the  first  view 


68  GOLDEN -ROD: 

of  lovely  Mount  Desert  Island  opens  before  them. 
The  beacon  on  Bass  Harbor  Head  stands  as  her 
sentinel ;  and  when  they  draw  nearer,  rounding 
Long  Ledge,  the  full  chain  of  her  mountains  is 
revealed.  As  the  day  wanes,  the  view  changes 
every  moment,  yet  never  wearies.  Sometimes  the 
boat,  crossing  a  stretch  where  the  Atlantic  swell 
rolls  in  unchecked,  dances  like  a  cork  on  the  heav 
ing  sea ;  then,  under  the  shelter  of  an  island,  the 
water  is  as  calm  as  an  inland  lake.  Sometimes  the 
breeze  is  soft  and  mild  as  an  infant's  breath ;  then 
suddenly  there  comes  a  change ;  a  glacial  chill  borne 
from  the  bosom  of  a  wandering  iceberg  descends 
upon  them,  laughed  at  at  first,  but  conquering  in 
the  end,  and  sending  them  on  a  race  to  the  cabin 
for  extra  wraps.  Contradiction  seems  to  be  the  rul 
ing  passion  of  Mother  Nature  in  this  region. 

The  first  landing  made  at  Mount  Desert  is  South 
west  Harbor,  destined  during  the  following  year  to 
be  the  scene  of  an  apparition  unwonted  as  a  fla 
mingo  in  a  barn-yard — the  mysterious  ship  Cimbria 
lying  at  anchor  here  for  months,  carrying  under  her 
German  flag  a  horde  of  Russians  awaiting  the  war- 
note  between  their  master  and  the  Queen. 

All  things  must  have  an  end,  and  this  fairy  voy 
age  was  drawing  near  its  close. 

Leaving  Southwest  Harbor  one  has  a  momentary 
glimpse  to  the  northward  of  Somes's  Sound,  with  a 
broad  haven  and  splendid  precipitous  cliffs.  Here 
came  Henry  Hudson  in  1609,  on  his  way  south  to 
explore  the  river  now  called  after  him.  Here,  a 


AN   IDYL  OF  MOUNT   DESERT  69 

little  later,  a  French  colony  of  Jesuit  fathers  was 
attacked  by  the  English  pirate  Argall ;  the  station 
was  plundered,  and  the  godly  priests  murdered 
under  the  shadow  of  the  cross  they  had  so  tri 
umphantly  planted  on  the  rock  with  chants  of 
thanksgiving  a  short  time  before.  These  worthy 
disciples  of  Christ,  after  many  days  of  tossing  upon 
angry  seas,  in  finding  themselves  in  the  glassy 
waters  of  this  tranquil  sound,  thought  it  a  very  par 
adise  planted  in  the  midst  of  desert  rocks  and 
had  bestowed  on  it  the  original  name  of  "  MONT 
DESERT."  Their  little  colony,  called  St.  Sauveur, 
was  thus  rudely  destroyed ;  but  after  the  lapse  of 
nearly  three  centuries  the  memory  of  those  good 
men  remains,  and  the  new  church  recently  erected 
at  Bar  Harbor  is  called  St.  Saviour,  as  a  reminder 
of  their  devotion. 

Otter  Creek  was  passed,  and  many  spots  whose 
names  are  dear  to  the  heart  of  the  faithful  Mount- 
Deserter  :  Thunder  Cave,  the  shining  sands  of 
Newport  Beach,  the  beetling  precipice  of  Great 
Head ;  Egg  Rock  with  its  picturesque  light-house  ; 
the  Anemone  Cave,  Schooner  Head,  the  Spouting 
Horn,  and  the  Porcupine  islands,  guarding  the  har 
bor  over  which  tower  mountains  where  one  may 
climb  through  woods  rich  in  the  balsam  of  fir  and 
pine  trees  and,  emerging  on  the  summit,  look  down 
nearly  two  thousand  feet  of  precipice  into  the  chaf 
ing  ocean. 

Bar  Harbor  was  not  as  they  had  known  it  years 
ago,  for  the  spectacle  of  tall  hotels  and  "  Queen 


70  GOLDEN  -  ROD  : 

Anne  "  cottages  made  now  a  smart  modern  water 
ing-place  of  what  was  then  a  quaint  yellow,  red, 
and  brown  tinted  fisher-village  on  the  coast. 

In  the  harbor,  side  by  side  with  fishing  -  smacks 
and  Indian  canoes,  were  gay  pleasure  yachts  and 
boats,  and  several  times  a  week  were  emptied  on 
its  pier  a  horde  of  society -seekers,  alas!  clad  in 
purple  and  fine  linen,  instead  of  the  sturdy  band 
of  young  men  and  maidens,  artists,  students,  pro 
fessors,  who  would  be  boys  again,  who  in  earlier 
days  wore  stout  shoes,  and  swore  to  dress  like 
tramps,  and  dwell  like  gods  together  through  long 
days  of  glorious  idling  in  this  crystal  atmosphere. 

The  fatal  tide  of  fashion  had  set  that  way,  and 
having  given  vent  to  the  customary  Jeremiad  of 
aboriginal  visitors  to  Mount  Desert,  our  travellers 
found  it  proper  to  admit  that  there  were  a  great 
many  consolations  left  under  the  present  state  of 
things. 

"  Erskine,  you  had  better  go  ashore  cautiously," 
said  The  Counsellor,  as  the  little  steamer  touched 
her  pier.  "  Ten  to  one  there  will  be  two  rival 
leaders  of  picnic  parties  waiting  to  capture  you, 
and  bear  you  off  in  a  buckboard  to  eat  hard-boiled 
eggs  and  dismember  cold  chickens  upon  the  rocks." 

For  once,  however,  this  common  fate  was  es 
caped,  and  the  new-comers  were  only  showered 
with  cordial  greetings  from  the  picturesque  groups 
assembled  to  see  that  great  event,  the  arrival  of  the 
boat.  Take  it  all  in  all,  Bar  Harbor  is  such  an 
amazingly  affectionate  place.  One  grows  rapturous 


AN  IDYL  OF  MOUNT   DESERT  71 

on  its  wharf  over  friends  whom  one  has  failed  to 
see  for  months,  even  years,  in  town.  Snubs  are 
forgiven,  feuds  are  forgotten,  desperate  friendships 
are  created  in  a  breath,  in  this  atmosphere  of  uni 
versal  good-fellowship. 

It  need  not  be  said  that  Miss  Amy  North  was  in 
her  element  at  Mount  Desert.  In  a  moment  her 
attached  family  beheld  her  submerged  in  the  em 
braces  of  five  particular  friends  among  the  girls, 
four  of  whom  wore  brilliant  red  petticoats  and  flour 
ished  Turkey  red  parasols. 


VI 


THE  COUNSELLOR  and  his  party,  or  Erskine  and 
his  friends,  in  whatever  way  you  prefer  to  regard 
them,  found  that  their  telegrams  had  preceded  them 
to  some  effect.  Amy  declared  it  was  due  to  the 
remembrance  of  their  attractions  upon  a  former 
visit — Thornton,  to  everybody's  fear  of  whooping- 
cough — that  mine  host  had  quartered  them  in  the 
vacant  rooms  of  a  cottage  sufficiently  far  from  the 
madding  crowd  to  breathe  in  freedom,  yet  near 
enough  to  become,  in  the  Maine  vernacular, 
"mealers,"  /.<?.,  go  back  and  forth  to  the  Rodick 
House  for  their  meals. 

Erskine  announced  that  he  was  lodged  like  a 
prince,  in  a  quaint  little  ship's  cabin  of  a  room, 
with  floor  painted  green,  and  sunflowers  and  holly- 


72  GOLDEN  -  ROD  : 

hocks  looking  in  at  his  window,  barring  the  slight 
inconvenience  of  a  snoring  neighbor  in  the  adjoin 
ing  room,  of  whom  it  was  certified  by  his  landlady 
that  he  would  not  fail  to  leave  in  Monday's  boat. 

At  breakfast  next  day  at  the  Rodick  their  repast 
was  continually  interrupted  by  people  who  came 
into  the  great  dining-room,  took  places,  looked  over 
at  their  table,  looked  again,  as  if,  like  Mr.  Twem- 
low  they  were  not  quite  sure  whether  these  were 
indeed  their  dearest  friends  or  not ;  then,  abandon 
ing  uncertainty,  descended  upon  the  last  arrivals 
with  effusive  welcome. 

In  this  dining-room  of  the  Rodick  were  then  as 
sembled  representatives  of  all  parts  of  the  country. 
The  F.  F.'s  of  Boston  and  the  F.  F.'s  of  Virginia 
forgot  their  mutual  slight  unpleasantness  of  a  few 
years  gone  by,  and  affiliated  on  the  ground  of  com 
mon  superiority  to  the  mass  of  Americans  not  en 
dowed  like  themselves  with  sangre  azul.  New  York 
compared  notes  with  Cleveland  and  Chicago,  willing 
to  credit  them  with  "  a  certain  kind  of  progressive- 
ness,  no  doubt,"  but  profoundly  pitying  them  for 
being  situated  so  far  from  the  radius  of  her  enlight 
ening  beam. 

All  the  younger  ladies  were  attired  in  short  cos 
tumes,  with  a  manifest  determination  towards  the 
picturesque.  "  I  don't  care  about  the  becomingness 
of  it,"  said,  to  her  dress-maker,  a  New  York  girl 
bound  for  Mount  Desert ;  "  but  you  must  make  me 
effective  against  a  rock  !" 

Two  marked  peculiarities  were  to  be  noted  in 


AN  IDYL  OF  MOUNT   DESERT  73 

the  charming  creatures  who  frequented  the  Eastern 
Eden.  One  was  a  reckless  disregard  of  the  ordi 
nary  rules  for  the  preservation  of  complexion,  a 
rich  tawny  brown  there  being  as  much  a  standard 
of  beauty  as  in  the  Marquesas ;  another,  the  most 
delightful  liberality  in  the  display  of  stockings, 
which,  with  high -heeled  slippers  and  sparkling 
buckles,  were  scattered  over  the  Rodick  veranda 
like  poppies  in  a  field. 

Upon  this  long  veranda  a  dress  parade  was  held 
three  times  a  day.  After  every  meal  people  rallied 
there  to  plan  excursions,  lay  out  routes,  discuss 
weather,  abjure  fogs,  exchange  novels,  eat  choco 
late  bonbons,  and  compare  crewel-work.  Truth  to 
tell,  Kensington  embroidery,  after  a  brief  devotion 
to  the  aesthetic  bulrush,  languished  in  the  face  of 
yacht  parties,  buckboard  parties,  catamaran  parties, 
and,  most  popular  of  all,  those  parties  where  two  are 
company  and  three  are  trumpery — in  the  frail  limi 
tation  of  a  birch-bark  canoe. 

Erskine  found  himself  caught  up  and  whirled 
away  in  abundant  schemes  mapped  out  for  his  en 
tertainment  by  his  friends,  old  and  new. 

Thornton's  prophecy  came  speedily  to  pass.  On 
the  afternoon  following  their  arrival  they  were  capt 
ured,  stowed  in  a  buckboard  —  the  Mount  Desert 
equipage  par  excellence — and  borne  to  a  distant 
cliff  beside  the  sounding  sea,  each  man  in  charge 
of  an  especial  keeper.  Erskine  thought  that  he 
might  have  found  enjoyment  more  keen  than  in 
being  wedged  three  on  a  seat  with  people  from  the 


74  GOLDEN -ROD: 

four  quarters  of  the  globe  whom  he  never  saw  be 
fore,  to  be  driven  through  blinding  dust,  the  horses 
going  uphill  and  down  dale  at  a  steady  gallop. 

It  is  the  correct  amusement  at  Mount  Desert  to 
sing,  while  at  this  rate  of  speed,  glees,  catches,  and 
choruses — a  custom  honorable  in  its  antiquity,  no 
doubt,  but  occasionally  falling  short  of  full  effect 
from  the  preponderance  of  strong  bass  voices  and 
shrill  sopranos,  as  well  as  the  rigid  determination 
of  those  who  never  sang  before  to  open  their 
mouths  and  make  a  noise  to  add  to  the  general 
hilarity.  The  unfortunate  composer  of  that  popular 
maritime  ballad  "Nancy  Lee,"  should  have  spent 
a  summer  at  Bar  Harbor,  in  order  to  make  him  rue 
the  day  and  hour  when  he  gave  it  to  the  world. 

When  they  reached  Otter  Cliffs,  a  glorious  battle 
ment  of  sea-worn,  storm-riven  rock,  Erskine's  young 
woman  was  discovered  to  be  indispensable  to  the 
compounding  of  lobster  salad,  so  he  availed  him 
self  of  brief  freedom  to  clamber  down  nearer  to 
the  water  and  observe  at  leisure  the  picturesque 
scene. 

To  Amy  North's  portion  had  fallen  the  especial 
glory  of  the  party — a  young  Englishman  passing  a 
few  days  at  Mount  Desert  on  his  way  to  Nova 
Scotia. 

The  Honorable  Cecil  Clive  had  a  fine  aquiline 
profile,  wore  irreproachable  knickerbockers,  and 
divided  his  other  interests  in  life  with  incessant 
contemplation  of  his  own  substantial  legs,  cased  in 
woollen  hose  and  heavy  calf-skin  shoes. 


AN  IDYL  OF   MOUNT   DESERT  75 

"  I  suppose  you  visited  New  York,"  Amy  was 
saying,  after  a  protracted  pause. 

"  Oh  yes,  of  course,"  said  the  Honorable  Cecil. 
"Fancy  not  stoppin'  in  New  York,  now !  And,  I  say, 
there's  a  capital  fellow  there  for  stoppin'  teeth — 
whats-his-name,  you  know.  I  went  to  him  every  day 
I  was  there ;  upon  my  soul  I  did.  He's  an  awfully 
keen  fellow  on  teeth,  now,  isn't  he  ?" 

Amy  shot  a  mischievous  aillade  towards  Thornton 
with  an  expression  from  which  he  inferred  that  she 
was  enjoying  herself  with  exhilaration,  and  that  no 
power  on  earth  would  detain  her  other  than  the 
natural  sense  of  triumph  in  having  appropriated 
the  Honorable  Cecil  from  the  very  grasp  of  "  My 
Lady  Disdain,"  as  they  called  Mrs.  Ketchum  from 
New  York. 

This  lady  having,  with  her  two  pretty  inane 
daughters,  once  been  presented  at  Queen  Victoria's 
court,  and  visited  two  or  three  English  country 
houses,  had  conceived  the  idea  of  becoming  a  sort 
of  self-constituted  duchess  in  New  York  society. 
A  foreigner  of  distinction  or  of  title  fell  into  her 
hands  upon  his  arrival  as  naturally  as  an  October 
apple  gravitates  towards  the  earth.  A  brace  of 
English  lordlings  had  even  been  recently  consigned 
to  her  care  by  their  respective  mammas,  with  the 
polite  injunction  to  keep  them  from  the  snares  of 
American  match-makers — a  request  rigidly,  though 
not  intentionally  (so  ill-natured  people  said),  com 
plied  with.  It  may  be,  then,  readily  imagined  that 
this  American  fairy  godmother  of  the  English  aris- 


76  GOLDEN  -  ROD  : 

tocracy  had  every  reason  to  resent  interference  with 
the  Honorable  Cecil,  her  rightful  property. 

Mrs.  Ketchum  sat  upon  the  rocks,  with  discon 
tent  written  on  every  line  of  her  countenance,  sup, 
ported  on  either  side  by  the  pretty  daughters,  who 
had  hung  fire  at  Mount  Desert  in  consequence  of 
their  inability  to  comprehend  "these  odd  American 
ways."  Mrs.  Ketchum  refused  to  be  comforted 
even  by  the  attendance  of  that  great  arbiter  of 
fashion  Mr.  Philip  Daly,  who  was  spending  a 
week  at  Bar  Harbor  before  adjourning  to  New 
port,  "just  to  see  what  people  find  to  like  in  it, 
by  Jove !" 

It  was  apparent  that  Mr.  Philip  Daly's  principle 
in  life  resembled  that  of  Dickens's  hero,  who  would 
rather  be  knocked  down  by  a  gentleman  than  picked 
up  by  a  cad.  His  conversation  with  Mrs.  Ketchum 
consisted  mainly  of  warmed-over  reminiscences  of 
their  respective  English  experiences,  in  discussion 
as  to  whether  it  was  Lord  Partington's  wife's  sister 
or  his  half-sister  who  had  just  eloped  with  young 
Plantagenet  Grenville. 

My  Lady  Disdain  only  consented  to  relax  into  a 
wan  sort  of  a  smile  when  Mr.  Daly  disclosed  to  her 
an  entirely  new  anecdote,  just  received,  about  Mrs. 
Langtry  and  the  Prince  of  Wales. 

Higher  up  on  the  cliff  sat  Mrs.  Hazelhurst,  an 
aristocratic  dame  of  noble  Dutch  stock,  whose  wont 
it  was  to  "  sit  upon  thrones  in  a  purple  sublimity," 
and  repress  the  "  audacity  of  people  in  trade,  my 
dear,  aspiring  to  lead  in  New  York  society."  Mrs. 


AN  IDYL   OF  MOUNT  DESERT  77 

Hazelhurst  considered  it  her  duty  to  draw  the  line 
somewhere,  and  she  drew  it  at  Mrs.  Ketchum. 

Mrs.  Hazelhurst  was  in  close  conversation  with 
Grace  Thornton  about  some  one  of  their  mutual 
"  fads."  Mrs.  Thornton  was  a  typical  young  New 
York  matron,  and  the  possession  of  a  husband  and 
a  pretty  little  house  overflowing  with  bric-a-brac 
and  babies,  did  not  prevent  her  embarking  in 
every  kind  of  enterprise,  social,  philanthropic,  pious, 
or  patriotic. 

Mrs.  Thornton  had,  at  home  a  little  blue  and 
white  cretonne  morning- room,  all  over  crooks  and 
Cupids,  where  in  one  corner  was  placed  a  daven 
port,  severely  dedicated  to  public  works.  Here  she 
sat,  amid  piles  of  reports  and  other  documents,  writ 
ing  innumerable  little  notes,  and  overhauling  her 
visiting  list  in  the  intervals  of  drawing  up  the 
minutes  of  her  last  meeting  with  a  crimson  feather 
pen. 

Mrs.  Hazelhurst  was  the  president  of  the  Anti- 
Cassowary  Sisters  of  Timbuctoo.  Mrs.  Thornton 
was  secretary  of  the  Alb  Association  and  Chasuble 
Club.  Both  ladies  patronized  sewing  societies,  hos 
pitals,  amateur  theatricals  flannel -petticoat  guilds, 
and  Orthopaedic  bazars  at  Delmonico's. 

"Mon  Dieu,  madame  !"  said  a  young  Frenchman 
to  Mrs.  Thornton  one  season,  "  I  have  come  to  think 
that  your  grarienses  American  ladies  have  a  veritable 
mania  for  good  works.  If  I  escape  from  a  salon 
where  there  are  rose-colored  and  blue  tickets  for 
sale,  I  call  u-pon  a  charming  person  who  excuses 


78  GOLDEN -ROD: 

herself  to  attend  a  committee  or  to  visit  an  asylum 
for  blind  or  lunatics." 

In  conference  with  these  two  ladies  was  Mr.  Pe 
ters,  a  very  round,  blond,  and  rosy  personage,  whom 
nature  meant  for  a  good-natured  kindly  diner-out, 
but  who  persisted  in  adopting  a  mournful  and  poetic 
role.  His  especial  weakness  or  gift  was  for  the  con 
struction  of  neatly  turned  essays  upon  the  charac 
ter  of  deceased  friends.  Irreverent  girls  like  Amy 
North  called  poor  Mr.  Peters  "The  Ghoul,"  and 
men  said  of  him  that  it  added  new  terrors  to  death 
to  know  that  Peters  would  inevitably  write  your 
obituary  for  publication  in  the  E g  P /. 

The  Counsellor,  rejoicing  in  the  good-fortune  of 
his  wife  and  sister,  had  taken  possession  of  a  lovely 
little  Philadelphia  girl,  with  cheeks  like  wild  roses 
blooming  at  the  bottom  of  a  scoop  straw-hat,  ac 
cording  to  an  agreement  with  Grace  that  he  might 
flirt  as  much  as  he  pleased  at  Mount  Desert. 

A  pair  of  sisters,  Louisiana  Creoles,  with  brilliant 
mobile  faces,  lips  of  pomegranate,  and  complexions 
that  resembled  the  white  of  a  camellia  petal,  were 
resting  upon  a  crimson  rug  from  their  unusual 
labors  in  ascending  the  steep  cliff,  and  at  their 
feet  were  stretched  a  bevy  of  Harvard  men,  whom 
these  soft  Southern  beauties  had  completely  car 
ried  by  storm. 

Two  Boston  ladies,  themselves  resembling  sketch 
es  by  Du  Maurier,  had  brought  their  water-colors, 
and  were  diligently  at  work,  ambitious  to  catch  an 
especial  point  of  view  under  the  supervision  of  the 


AN   IDYL  OF  MOUNT  DESERT  79 

famous  artist  Shorterfeldt,  whom  all  the  amateurs 
were  following — "  a  very  long  way  after,"  as  Punch 
would  say. 

The  "  Baltimore  delegation  "  of  pretty,  slender 
girls,  with  irresistibly  cordial  ways,  had  undertaken 
to  build  a  fire  of  drift-wood,  whose  pale  blue  column 
of  smoke  arose  under  the  shoulder  of  a  huge  rock. 
Into  their  service  they  had  impressed  a  number  of 
cavaliers,  among  them  no  less  a  star  than  the  youth 
ful  Knickerbocker  Mr.  Percy  De  Witt,  whose  dear 
little  hands  were  assuredly  more  at  home  in  wield 
ing  a  fan  to  conduct  the  Cotillon  than  in  the  Cali 
ban  service  of  fetching  heavy  logs. 

Everywhere  echoes  of  cheerful  laughter  from 
merry  maidens  smote  the  ear.  One  sees  the  Bar 
Harbor  colony  out  in  force  at  such  a  festival  as 
this. 

Erskine  was  out  of  tune  with  gayety,  and  by  no 
one  of  these  attractive  groups  did  he  care  to  linger 
long.  He  strayed  down  to  the  verge  of  the  chafing 
sea,  and  walked  idly  up  the  coast.  Sometimes  he 
crossed  a  wall  of  ragged  rocks  upon  which  the  long 
roll  of  the  Atlantic  spent  its  force.  Beyond,  a  for 
est  of  leaves,  layer  upon  layer  of  every  conceivable 
shade  of  green,  wooed  the  foot  to  follow  where  the 
eye  had  plunged.  Again,  he  passed  a  stretch  of 
beach,  green  and  glittering  with  the  spines  of 
countless  sea-urchins,  powdered  by  the  action  of 
the  waves.  Then  came  an  inlet,  where  the  surf 
swirled  up  between  two  black  and  frowning  walls. 
Next,  a  tiny  path  through  a  bit  of  fern  pasture,  all 


8o  GOLDEN -ROD: 

embedded  in  moss  and  red  berries,  and  overhung 
with  tangled  boughs  of  birch.  And  so,  with  errant 
footsteps,  on  and  on,  until  he  came  suddenly  out 
again  upon  a  stretch  of  unimpeded  coast,  and  stood 
upon  a  jutting  point  of  rocks. 

There,  full  in  his  view,  across  an  intervening 
bay,  he  saw  an  archway  of  stone,  gorgeous  with 
prismatic  hues,  where  at  certain  conditions  of  the 
tide  a  single  boat  might  float  in  on  the  wave,  and 
rest  its  keel  upon  a  bit  of  pebbly  beach.  Behind 
it  rose  a  beetling  crag  to  shut  off  all  retreat,  and  a 
little  stream  of  water,  crystal  clear,  came  stealing 
down  between  tufts  of  harebells  growing  where  no 
hand  could  reach.  Here,  in  this  cool  recess,  might 
one  retire  to  gaze  out  upon  the  wide  panorama  of 
islands  rising  from  a  sapphire  sea ;  and  here,  like 
a  picture  set  in  a  frame,  he  saw  a  lady  stand. 

Erskine's  breath  grew  short,  and  a  dimness  pass 
ed  before  his  eyes.  It  was  none  other  than  Rosalie 
Gray.  It  was  evident  that  she  had  rowed  herself 
into  the  cavern,  and  found  it  a  much  more  difficult 
matter  to  return.  The  waves  were  dashing  in  upon 
her  feet,  and  the  little  cockle-shell  of  a  boat  was 
beating  and  grinding  on  the  rocks  in  utter  rebellion 
against  her  attempt  to  bring  it  into  subjection  with 
a  line  or  oar. 

One  moment  Erskine  gave  to  the  luxury  of  gazing 
upon  her  unobserved.  She  was  more  beautiful,  he 
thought,  in  the  dark  blue  boating  dress,  with  the 
fish-woman's  tunic  and  coarse  straw-hat,  than  in  all 
the  bravery  of  silk  attire  and  gems.  The  lines 


AN   IDYL   OF   MOUNT  DESERT  8l 

of  her  figure,  the  poise  of  her  head,  were  here  re 
vealed  in  a  new  phase,  that  seemed  in  some  way  to 
bring  her  more  down  to  his  level  than  before.  In 
her  belt  she  wore  with  careless  grace  a  large  knot 
of  the  ox-eyed  daisies  just  then  starring  every  field 
upon  the  island,  another  in  her  hat. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon — mayn't  I  help  you  ?"  Ers- 
kine  hailed  her.  As  she  turned  and  saw  him  the 
flush  in  her  cheek  deepened  perceptibly.  In  a 
moment's  time  he  was  scrambling  over  the  slippery 
rocks  regardless  of  appearances,  and  torn,  rough, 
and  breathless,  presented  himself  before  her. 

His  first  task  was  to  capture  the  boat,  and,  walk 
ing  in  water  to  his  knees,  hold  it  with  a  firm  grasp 
until  the  passenger  was  safely  stowed  within. 

"  Now  keep  your  oars  shipped  for  a  moment, 
please,  and  here  goes ;"  and  with  a  mighty  push 
Erskine  shot  the  little  craft  far  out  beyond  the  pas 
sage-way,  but  simultaneously  lost  his  footing,  and 
plunged  headlong  into  deep  water  after  it. 

Before  Mrs.  Gray  had  time  to  realize  her  dismay 
he  was  up  again,  and  scaling  the  rocks  as  he  dash 
ed  the  brine  away,  vowed  that  he  would  walk  back 
to  the  party,  and  beg  for  hot  coffee  and  a  wrap. 

"  It  is  absolutely  nothing,  I  assure  you,"  he  said, 
as  she  rowed  up  to  his  side.  "  Who  would  count 
a  wetting  in  sea-water  like  this  ?  though  I  must 
confess  it  has  a  sting  of  cold,  as  if  the  splinter  from 
an  iceberg  had  touched  me  passing  by.  It  is  rather 
a  downfall  to  my  pride,  however,  to  appear  before 
you  in  such  a  way." 

6 


82  GOLDEN -ROD: 

"  You  are  too  good,  to  make  light  of  it.  Thanks 
again,"  Rosalie  said,  every  trace  of  reserve  depart 
ing  from  her  manner.  "  I  am  more  than  ashamed 
of  myself  to  have  been  the  cause  of  such  an  acci 
dent.  It  is  quite  impossible  for  you  to  think  of 
returning  to  your  party.  They  will  have  left  The 
Cliffs  probably,  and  it  is  a  great  way  off.  I  beg — I 
insist  that  you  come  into  my  boat,  take  this  rug, 
and  let  me  row  you  home." 

"Everything  but  that,"  Erskine  said,  acquies 
cing,  with  a  smile.  "  Pray  be  compassionate,  and 
don't  bring  me  to  shame  by  making  an  invalid  of 
me.  I  bargain  for  the  oars  myself." 

What  between  the  active  exertion  of  a  long  pull 
and  the  astonishing  excitement  of  the  situation,  he 
had  nothing  to  fear  from  lack  of  circulation  of  the 
blood.  Like  a  draught  of  wine  was  the  delicious 
look  of  sympathy  she  turned  upon  him.  He  almost 
wished  that  he  might  have  struck  his  head  upon  a 
submerged  rock,  in  order  to  pose  a  little,  and  win 
still  more  of  these  anxious  womanly  glances.  There 
was  nothing  left  of  the  imperial  ball-room  belle ; 
she  was  dreamy  and  almost  shy. 

Nothing  passed  between  them  in  reference  to 
their  former  meetings.  In  society  one  recognizes 
that  there  are  a  great  many  things  convenient  to 
forget,  and  that  almost  everybody  has  a  time  when 
it  is  best  to  rub  out  bad  marks  and  begin  over 
again.  Mrs.  Gray  may  have  murmured,  "  I  met 
you  at  the  Patriarchs'  last  winter,  I  believe  ?"  and 
Erskine  may  have  answered,  "Yes  —  ah,  certainly. 


AN    IDYL  OF   MOUNT  DESERT  83 

I  think  I  was  indebted  to  my  friend  A for  the 

pleasure  ;"  but  neither  one  betrayed  any  profounder 
emotion. 

When  Perseus  proceeded  to  land  Andromeda  at 
a  floating-dock,  and  to  assist  her  up  the  steep  stair 
way,  she  waited  until  they  were  out  of  hearing  of 
the  ring  of  lounging  boatmen,  and  turning,  offered 
him  her  slim  white  hand. 

"  Mr.  Erskine,"  she  said,  for  the  first  time  pro 
nouncing  his  name,  "  let  me  thank  you  again,  the 
more  heartily  because  I  have  to  ask  your  pardon 
for  another  offence." 

It  did  not  occur  to  Erskine  to  demand  for  what 
just  then.  His  blood  was  thrilling  in  his  veins. 
He  looked  after  her  stately  figure  as  she  walked 
away,  without  even  knowing  if  they  should  meet 
again. 


VII 


THEY  did  meet  again,  early  and  oft,  after  the 
friendly  Mount  Desert  fashion.  "  Better  a  fort 
night  of  Mount  Desert  that  a  cycle  in  New  York," 
say  enthusiasts  in  the  art  of  love-making.  It  is  a 
very  dispensary  of  opportunities. 

Mrs.  Gray  was  stopping  with  her  aunt  —  a  de 
lightful  old  lady  with  pretty  white  crimped  hair, 
who  did  endless  bands  of  crewel-work — and  that 
lady's  husband,  Mr.  Carson,  at  a  cottage  at  some 


84  GOLDEN  -  ROD  : 

distance  from  the  centre  of  gayety,  the  Rodick 
House.  Although  Mrs.  Caspar  Gray  habitually 
declined  picnics  and  large  excursion  parties,  she 
was  more  accessible  to  her  friends  here  than  in 
town. 

The  day  after  his  adventure  Erskine  was  saun 
tering  listlessly  up  and  down  the  board  walk  in 
the  chief  street  with  his  hands  stuck  in  his  tweed 
pockets,  utterly  unconscious  of  the  siren  glances 
bestowed  on  him  by  numbers  of  pretty  girls  loung 
ing  on  verandas  or  steps,  under  scarlet  or  blue 
umbrellas,  with  pretty  little  feet  coquettishly  dis 
played  before  them.  It  was  this  provoking  indiffer 
ence  of  Mr.  Erskine's,  the  young  ladies  agreed,  that 
made  him  so  very  desirable.  Poor,  good-natured 
Tom  Elliott,  who  spent  his  time  in  everybody's 
service,  whose  life  was  one  struggle  "to  get  up 
something  new  "  for  the  diversion  of  society,  wan 
dered  up  and  down  like  Noah's  weary  dove,  vainly 
seeking  a  resting-place  beside  some  of  these  in 
different  fair  ones.  He  compromised  at  last  upon 
a  promenade  with  Miss  Amaryllis  Glover,  who 
had  weathered  dear  knows  how  many  summers  at 
Mount  Desert,  and  had  gone  to  so  many  picnics  in 
her  day  that  one  trembles  at  the  thought  of  com 
puting  the  number  of  sandwiches  she  must  have 
consumed,  not  to  mention  Albert  biscuits  and  sar 
dines. 

Not  until  Amy  North  came  down  the  Rodick 
steps  —  a  fact  noted  promptly  by  several  curious 
damsels,  and  put  on  record  by  old  Mrs.  Delancey, 


AN   IDYL  OF  MOUNT  DESERT  85 

the  picket -guard  of  the  Rodick  House,  who  was 
always  on  duty  by  the  hall  door,  armed  with  her 
knitting -pins  —  did  Mr.  Erskine  arouse  from  his 
reverie  and  join  her  with  a  smile.  The  fact  was, 
he  had  been  guilty  of  the  unconscionable  weakness 
of  hanging  round  the  principal  thoroughfare  solely 
with  a  view  to  catching  a  possible  glimpse  of  Mrs. 
Gray,  or  of  gaining  some  insight  into  her  move 
ments  for  the  day. 

So  far,  he  had  entirely  failed,  and  the  spectacle 
of  Amy  North  in  her  boating  dress  was  sufficiently 
consolatory  to  make  him  feel  that  a  morning  spent 
with  this  "  dear  charmer  "  might  atone  for  the  ab 
sence  of  "t'other."  Amy's  light  figure  and  springy 
grace  of  motion  were  best  seen  in  her  jaunty  sailor's 
suit  of  blue  and  white.  Her  little  tarpaulin  hat  set 
upon  the  golden  braids,  and  the  short  "  banged  " 
hair  in  front,  gave  her  a  childish  look,  sustained 
by  the  fearless  wide-open  blue  eyes  looking  out  of 
a  somewhat  sun-kissed  dimpled  little  face. 

"  May  I  go  with  you,  my  pretty  maid  ?"  Erskine 
said  to  her. 

"  If  you  choose  to  come  out  in  the  canoe  with 
me  and  my  own  Indian,  and  will  promise  not  to 
touch  the  paddle.  I  am  quite  an  expert." 

"  If  you  will  take  me  in  exchange  for  your  own 
Indian,"  he  said.  "  I  am  eminently  cautious  and 
conservative." 

"  I  don't  know  that  that  is  an  especial  recom 
mendation  to  me,"  Amy  said,  with  her  light-hearted 
laugh.  "  But  wait  here  a  moment,  please,  while  I 


86  GOLDEN  -  ROD  I 

run  back  to  the  house  for  my  scarlet  silk  neck- 
handkerchief.  I  would  do  you  discredit  without 
my  bit  of  color  in  the  canoe." 

As  she  left  him,  a  lady  passed  Erskine  and 
walked  into  a  village  shop,  which  contained  every 
thing  imaginable  in  addition  to  the  daily  mail  to 
Bar  Harbor. 

It  was  Rosalie  Gray,  and  he  was  by  her  side  as 
her  foot  touched  the  threshold. 

"Good- morning,"  Erskine  said,  with  a  strange 
lack  of  self-possession.  "  I  have  been  watching  for 
you  all  the  morning.  I  did  not  exactly  like  to  pre 
sent  myself  at  your  quarters,  and  I  wanted  to  know 
if — if  you  are  quite  well  to-day." 

"  I  should  rather  ask  you  that  question,  Mr.  Ers 
kine,  for  you  were  the  principal  sufferer,"  she  said, 
lightly,  and  looking  him  in  the  eyes,  with  the  inde 
finable  airy  confidence  of  a  woman  of  the  world. 

"  Oh,  if  you  mean  my  wet  clothes,  that  is  nothing. 
May  I  —  might  I  walk  home  with  you  this  morn 
ing  ?"  he  went  on,  feeling  more  and  more  at  a  dis 
advantage. 

At  that  moment  Amy  came  running  out  upon 
the  walk,  ready  for  their  jaunt,  and  summoned  him 
as  unceremoniously  as  if  she  were  a  boy  and  he  a 
school-fellow. 

Mrs.  Gray's  face  wore  an  amused  look  as  she 
offered  him  her  hand. 

"Another  time,"  she  said,  in  her  quiet  voice. 
"  Let  me  wish  you,  instead,  a  pleasant  paddle  and 
better  luck  than  befell  you  in  my  service." 


AN   IDYL   OF  MOUNT  DESERT  87 

"  Do  you  row  much  ?  Do  you  care  for  a  canoe  ? 
May  I  take  you  out  to-morrow  ?"  Erskine  said,  with 
a  profound  rebellion  against  the  trick  Fate  was 
playing  him. 

"  Come  to  my  cottage  to-morrow  morning  about 
eleven,  and  we  may  talk  it  over.  One  never  can 
promise  anything  too  surely  at  Mount  Desert. 
There  are  fogs,  you  know,  and  other  interruptions. 
Pray  don't  let  me  keep  you  a  moment  longer  from 
that  charming  young  lady  now." 

There  was  nothing  left  about  her  of  the  heavenly 
softness  of  the  day  before.  Her  manner  was  cool, 
though  sufficiently  cordial,  easy,  bright,  and  care 
less.  Erskine,  who  had  been  for  hours  hungering 
for  another  one  of  those  looks  from  her  soft  dark 
eyes,  went  back  to  Amy,  consumed  with  disap 
pointment. 

"  So  that  is  Mrs.  Caspar  Gray,"  Amy  said,  with 
a  girl's  admiring  curiosity.  "  I  did  not  know  she 
was  here,  or  that  you  knew  her.  I  think  she  is  too 
splendid  for  anything ;  but  that  sort  of  a  woman 
always  makes  me  feel  as  if  my  gown  doesn't  fit, 
or  the  buttons  are  off  my  boots,  or  as  if  I  have 
large  red  hands,  and  don't  know  how  to  do  my 
hair." 

Erskine  thought  it  would  be  difficult  for  this 
little  town-bred  creature  to  look  other  than  she 
was — fine  and  fair  to  see.  Her  unaffected  admira 
tion  of  his  divinity  aroused  in  him  for  her  a  new 
warmth  of  friendship.  He  resolved  that  he  would 
bring  these  two  women  together,  as  men  often  do, 


88  GOLDEN  -  ROD  : 

not  always  with  success.  Hope  springing  eternal 
pointed  him  to  the  morrow  when  he  was  bidden 
to  Rosalie's  cottage,  and  his  spirits  rose.  They 
walked  down  to  the  point  of  embarkation,  chatting 
merrily,  and  Amy,  hailing  her  Indian  (otherwise 
the  one  chartered  by  Mr.  Thornton  for  especial  at 
tendance  upon  the  whims  of  his  enterprising  young 
sister-in-law),  their  canoe  was  run  up  beside  a  float 
and  they  were  stowed  within.  The  Indian  was  dis 
missed,  but  Erskine  received  orders  to  take  his  ease, 
reclining  luxuriously,  while  Amy  paddled  their  tiny 
craft  across  the  "glassy,  cool,  translucent  wave." 

"  I  feel  like  a  Moslem  saint  reclining  in  para 
dise,"  Erskine  said,  dreamily,  as  they  floated  in 
from  the  sun-glare  to  the  haven  of  a  shaded  little 
bay  so  noiselessly  that  they  scarce  disturbed  a  le 
gion  of  bright  fishes  darting  underneath  their  keel. 

"  If  Moslem  saints  have  their  noses  burned  to  a 
bright  red,  then  you  certainly  resemble  one,"  said 
his  skipper.  "  This  is  chief  of  the  drawbacks  to 
romance  upon  the  water  at  Mount  Desert.  See, 
Mr.  Erskine,  how  clear  the  water  is  over  this  shal 
low,  and  how  the  bottom  shines  like  silver  near  the 
shore." 

They  gazed  down  in  fascinated  silence  through 
the  amber  veil  upon  the  under-world.  There,  over 
sunken  rocks,  matted  with  olive-tinted  kelp,  sway 
ing  lazily  in  the  current,  passed  and  repassed  the 
busy  workers  of  submarine  commerce,  jostling, 
struggling,  and  devouring  each  other  quite  as  they 
do  up  above. 


AN   IDYL  OF  MOUNT   DESERT  89 

"  Let  us  go  ashore  here,"  said  Amy.  "  I  am 
filled  with  a  desire  to  explore  the  wooded  sides  of 
this  Porcupine." 

"  Let  us  rather  seek  a  shady  nook,  and  loaf," 
Erskine  said.  "We  have  had  '  enough  of  action 
and  of  motion  we.'  " 

"  We!"  said  Amy,  scornfully.  "  I  should  like  to 
be  told  how  large  a  share  of  it  has  fallen  to  you. 
But,  as  Grace  says,  there  is  nothing  so  easy  to 
spoil  as  men,  and  you  shall  be  made  to  work  your 
passage  back,  I  promise  you." 

She  consented  to  indulge  his  idleness,  after  all, 
and  they  found  shelter  beneath  a  downward  sweep 
ing  branch,  where  Erskine  stretched  himself  at  half 
length  upon  a  carpet  of  pine-needles,  and  looked 
up  into  her  face. 

Amy  took  his  straw  hat  and  decorated  it  with  a 
cavalier's  plume  of  ferns  growing  out  of  a  cleft  in 
the  rocks  near  by. 

"  Now  you  are  my  knight,"  she  said,  conferring 
it  upon  him  with  a  fantastic  little  gesture. 

Erskine  thought  it  not  unnatural  that  he  should 
respond  to  this  by  taking  her  hand  in  his  and  kiss 
ing  it  with  a  courtly  grace.  At  the  very  moment 
chosen  for  the  exploit  another  canoe  shot  across 
the  water  at  their  feet,  and  Rosalie  Gray  and  the 
Indian  who  propelled  it  had  the  full  benefit  of  this 
pretty  pastime. 

The  Indians  at  Mount  Desert  must  be  rather  ac 
customed  to  that  kind  of  thing,  for  the  present 
spectator  looked  to  the  full  as  stolid  as  his  kind, 


90  GOLDEN  -  ROD  : 

and  Mrs.  Gray  gave  no  more  evidence  of  conscious 
ness  than  did  her  dusky  guide. 

"  It  is  just  my  luck,  Grace,"  said  Amy,  coming 
into  her  sister's  room  that  night  in  a  blue  cashmere 
dressing-robe,  with  her  yellow  locks  hanging  loose 
around  her  indignant  little  face.  "  I,  who  never 
did  anything  fast  in  my  life — in  that  way,  I  mean 
— and  just  because  Mr.  Erskine  kissed  my  hand, 
every  bit  in  fun,  you  know,  that  Mrs.  Gaspar  Gray 
should  be  the  one  to  come  upon  us !  If  she  had 
only  laughed,  it  would  have  been  some  consolation, 
but  she  barely  nodded,  and  looked  more  like  the 
Empress  of — Everything — than  usual.  How  stupid 
it  all  is !  Men  are  great  nuisances,  I  think.  One 
may  be  happy  forever,  and  as  soon  as  they  get 
mixed  up  with  things,  trouble  sets  in." 

"  Very  true,  dear,"  said  the  matronly  Grace, 
heaving  a  sigh  she  thought  she  might  venture  upon 
without  disloyalty  to  Frank.  "  But  there  they  are, 
and  we  must  make  the  best  of  them.  Now  let  this 
teach  you  to  be  careful,  Amy,  for  there  never  was 
such  a  place  as  this,  and  whether  you  flirt  or  whether 
you  don't,  people  will  be  sure  to  suspect  you." 

"  Then  what  is  the  use  of  self-denial  ?"  was  Amy's 
very  natural  inquiry,  her  mischievous  spirit  spring 
ing  up. 

"  If  you  only  heard  the  confidences  that  are  made 
to  me  !"  Grace  went  on,  unheeding  this  indiscretion. 
"  I  don't  know  what  there  is  about  me,  but  I  am  a 
perfect  repository  of  love  secrets.  Flirtation  is  in 
the  very  '  hair  of  the  hatmosphere'  at  Mount  Desert. 


AN  IDYL  OF  MOUNT  DESERT  91 

And  girls,  Amy,  whom  you  would  never  suspect  of 
it  at  home.  As  to  the  men,  why,  there  is  that  nice 
young  Grafton,  in  Frank's  office,  who  met  a  girl 
coming  up  on  the  Lewiston  from  Portland,  spent 
three  days  in  devoting  himself  to  her  on  verandas 
and  at  picnics,  and  proposed  to  her  on  the  fourth 
day,  before  ever  having  seen  her  with  her  hat  off. 
Fortunately  she  was  already  engaged  to  be  married, 
he  told  me,  for  when  she  did  appear  bareheaded 
her  forehead  went  so  far  back  he  was  in  an  agony 
lest  she  should  say  'yes.'  " 

"But  what  will  Mrs.  Gray  think  of  me?"  said 
Amy,  ingrevert  to  her  own  grievance,  as  she  wield 
ed  her  ivory  brush. 

"  Oh  !  I  don't  know,"  said  Mrs.  Thornton,  with  a 
strong  desire  to  laugh,  which  she  repressed  from 
motives  of  decorum.  "  If  she  knows  Mr.  Erskine 
at  all,  she  will  know  he  did  it  in  a  brotherly  kind 
of  a  way,  I  suppose." 

Why  should  the  unreasonable  blood  have  mount 
ed  up  to  Amy's  face  at  this  ?  Only  a  woman  can 
tell,  I  fancy.  Perhaps  Grace  had  some  sly  design 
of  her  own  in  throwing  out  this  fly  to  catch  a  fish. 
She  changed  the  subject  by  inviting  Amy  to  go 
into  the  nursery  and  look  at  Baby — an  act  of  wor 
ship  performed  by  both  women  nightly  with  un 
feigned  faith  and  love. 

There  he  lay,  the  monarch  of  their  hearts,  in  his 
little  cot,  with  golden  rings  of  hair  clinging  to  his 
moist  brow,  and  a  rosy  flush  upon  his  cheeks,  rest 
ing  the  tired  feet  that  all  day  long  had  trotted  on 


92  GOLDEN  -  ROD  : 

the  coast,  and  the  hands  relaxed  from  their  labor  of 
fetching  and  carrying  sticks  and  stones.  Beneath 
his  pillow  nurse  revealed  a  huge  pine  cone,  without 
which  Baby  would  by  no  means  have  been  induced 
to  go  to  sleep,  and  an  invalid  tin  soldier  was  just 
dropping  out  of  the  dimpled  fist. 

The  other  beds  contained  two  sturdy  slumberers, 
who,  having  been  consigned  to  rest  in  the  ordinary 
attitude,  had  gradually  worked  themselves  around 
at  right  angles  with  each  other,  and  at  intervals 
kicked  out  wildly,  scattering  the  bed-clothes  far  and 
near.  Above  their  heads  two  shelves  contained 
their  museum  of  treasures  collected  during  the  day. 
Pebbles,  bits  of  lobster  shells  and  claws,  "sea- 
dollars,"  dried  starfish,  the  shells  of  sea-urchins 
perforated  with  a  skill  no  Chinese  carver  on  ivory 
could  surpass,  mussels,  oysters  overgrown  with  sea 
weed — what  was  there  not  ? 

"I'm  in  mortal  fear,  ma'am,  that  this  rubbish 
will  begin  to  smell,  if  it  don't  already,"  said  nurse, 
carrying  her  case  to  the  highest  tribunal ;  "  but  it's 
as  much  as  my  life  is  worth  to  touch  one  of  the 
nasty  things.  Coaxing  ain't  of  no  use,  and  I'd  be 
much  obliged  to  you,  ma'am,  if  you'd  speak  about 
it  yourself  to  the  young  gentlemen." 

Grace  promised  redress,  but  surveyed  the  scene 
with  satisfaction  unalloyed. 

"  After  all,  my  dear,"  she  said,  as  they  turned 
away,  "it  does  give  one  a  better  opinion  of  men, 
to  think  they  belong  to  the  same  class  with  Frank 
and  the  boys,  doesn't  it  ?" 


AN   IDYL   OF   MOUNT   DESERT  93 


VIII 


IT  is  to  be  supposed  that  to  Erskine's  lot  fell 
most  of  the  suffering  from  his  thoughtless  act  of 
gallantry  to  Amy.  No  one's  society  had  power  to 
retain  him  during  that  evening,  and  he  spent  the 
hours  in  wandering  about  the  village  in  the  vicinity 
of  Rosalie's  cottage  home,  and  in  keeping  watch 
like  a  devotee  over  the  casement  where  a  light  was 
burning.  This  light  was,  in  reality,  the  kerosene 
lamp  by  which  dear  old  Mrs.  Carson  was  putting 
up  her  crimps  ;  but  what  did  it  matter,  after  all  ? — 
he  was  just  as  much  comforted  by  surveying  the 
wrong  side  of  the  house. 

At  a  very  few  minutes  past  eleven  o'clock  next 
day  he  presented  himself  in  Rosalie's  little  sitting- 
room,  to  be  received,  as  he  might  have  expected  to 
be,  like  any  other  morning  caller. 

Her  surroundings,  as  she  sat  sketching  a  cluster 
of  field  flowers  stuck  in  a  blue  china  jar,  were  full 
of  picturesque  grace  in  decoration  and  arrange 
ment.  A  few  Eastern  rugs  and  Japanese  hanging 
screens,  sketches  in  water-color  or  in  charcoal,  jugs, 
draperies,  bibelots,  a  wicker-chair  tied  with  knots 
of  cardinal  ribbon,  a  chintz-covered  lounge,  a  bowl 
filled  with  brier  roses  in  masses  of  shaded  pink, 
books,  and  an  easel,  had  transformed  the  homely 
cottage  room  into  an  artist's  interior. 


94  GOLDEN  -  ROD  : 

During  the  ensuing  conversation  not  once  could 
Erskine  find  a  loop-hole  to  introduce  an  explana 
tion  of  the  island  scene  she  had  unintentionally 
become  aware  of.  It  was  clear  that  she  intended 
to  exclude  personalities  from  the  range  of  their 
talk.  Whatever  of  impulse  she  had  exhibited  to 
,  him  on  the  occasion  of  his  exploit  at  the  cave 
was  exhausted  then.  Her  manner  was  courteous, 
though  somewhat  measured. 

Mrs.  Caspar  Gray  knew  too  well  the  opening 
manoeuvres  of  a  suitor's  campaign  to  expose  to 
them  any  part  of  her  own  plan  of  defense.  He 
felt  the  full  charm  of  the  well-bred  woman  of  so 
ciety  in  her  politeness,  neither  flattering  nor  coquet 
tish  ;  her  tact  in  generalizing  conversation  ;  her  sub 
tle  force  in  putting  between  them  a  bridge  of  glass 
over  which  he  dared  not  tread. 

Erskine  talked  with  her  long,  and  with  ever-in 
creasing  interest.  He  soon  realized  in  some  inex 
plicable  way,  that  in  proportion  to  his  abandon 
ment  of  the  manner  most  expressing  his  real  feeling, 
her  geniality  and  bienveillance  (what  English  word 
will  say  this  for  me  ?)  increased. 

She  was  more  than  a  match  for  him  in  this  deli 
cate  contest,  and  when  Erskine  rose  to  go,  he  felt 
as  if  he  had  been  brushed  in  the  face  by  a  butter 
fly's  wing,  and  none  the  less  repelled. 

"  You  are  with  the  Thornton  party,  I  understand, 
Mr.  Erskine  ?"  she  said,  as  he  was  leaving.  "  I 
know  Mrs.  Thornton  a  little,  in  town,  but  my  aunt 
was  intimate  with  her  mother  long  ago,  and  has 


AN   IDYL   OF  MOUNT   DESERT  95 

charged  me  to  seek  out  the  daughters  for  her  sake. 
The  young  lady — Miss  North — is  charming,  I  think. 
I  hope  they  will  like  to  come  to  our  cottage  some 
times,  when  they  are  tired  of  the  bustle  at  the 
Rodick.  This  is  a  quiet  little  nook  of  ours  for 
such  a  crowded  place.  It  is  just  what  I  needed, 
and  what  I  like.  The  sea  is  my  best  friend,  after 
all,  for  in  my  boat  or  canoe,  exploring  these  lovely 
shores,  I  can  be  most  sure  of  the  rest  and  solitude 
I  seek.  I  can't  always  hope  to  be  so  fortunate,  if 
trouble  overtakes  me,  as  to  have  such  aid  as  yours. 
You  must  go,  then  ?  Thanks,  so  very  much,  for 
being  willing  to  come  away  from  all  the  gayety  to 
bestow  an  hour  on  me.  Don't  forget  to  tell  your 
friends  about  Mrs.  Carson,  and,  when  they  come  to 
see  us,  you  will  come  with  them,  may  I  hope  ?" 

From  that  day  forth  Erskine  fell  quietly  into  the 
position  assigned  to  him  by  Mrs.  Gray.  They  met 
frequently,  but  always  on  the  same  terms.  He  did 
not  renew  his  offer  to  accompany  her  boating  ex 
cursions,  and  in  these  most  of  her  hours  of  day 
light  were  spent.  When  he  visited  the  cottage,  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Carson  and  other  friends  were  always 
there.  With  the  Thorntons  and  with  Amy  North 
his  intimacy  daily  increased.  Visits  had  passed  be 
tween  them  and  Mrs.  Gray,  who  dazzled  and  de 
lighted  at  least  two  of  the  family,  if  the  third  did 
not  yield  unresistingly. 

The  summer  days  slipped  down  the  rosary  of 
Time ;  every  boat  brought  a  fresh  contribution  of 
visitors  to  the  already  overcrowded  island.  Enough 


96  GOLDEN  -  ROD  : 

rain  had  fallen  to  lay  the  dust;  the  weather  was 
perfect;  altogether  Bar  Harbor  was  in  the  full 
swing  of  a  prosperous  season. 

"  It  is  just  as  if  the  Venus  de  Milo  had  consented 
to  leave  her  cool  corner  of  the  Louvre,"  The  Coun 
sellor  said  one  day,  while  straying  with  his  wife  and 
boys  down  the  path  leading  to  the  Indian  encamp 
ment,  whither  he  was  decoyed  to  buy  "  baskets  and 
things"  by  those  arch -conspirators. 

It  was  a  delicious  stroll  in  the  sunshine,  along  a 
grassy  bluff,  the  harbor  at  their  feet  lying  like  a 
mirror  to  reflect  the  blue  of  cloudless  heavens  and 
the  green  shores  of  island  and  main-land,  while  the 
sails  hung  idle,  and  fishermen  were  resting  from 
their  early  morning's  toil.  The  Counsellor  felt  as  if 
he  could  forgive  his  enemies  and  forget  his  clients 
so  long  as  this  glorious  weather  should  endure. 

The  necessities  of  the  path  compelled  them  to 
progress  in  single  file — a  fact  in  itself  rather  annoy 
ing  to  the  person  who  walks  behind,  especially  if 
anything  not  entirely  audible  is  said.  This  may 
have  accounted  for  the  somewhat  tart  accents  of 
Mrs.  Thornton's  voice  when  she  requested  him  to 
repeat  his  remark,  begging  to  know  to  whom  it 
might  refer. 

"Why,  is  there  more  than  one  Venus  de  Milo?" 
he  answered,  turning  back  with  cheerful  alacrity. 
"  I  mean,  of  course,  that  magnificent  Mrs.  Gray.  I 
have  sometimes  suspected  Erskine  of  being  touched 
in  her  quarter,  and  I  wish  him  good-luck,  with  all 
my  soul,  though  there  are  some  inconveniences  at- 


AN  IDYL  OF  MOUNT  DESERT  97 

tending  the  translation  of  a  goddess  from  the 
clouds  to  sit  behind  one's  soup  tureen." 

"  You  are  too  silly,  Frank,"  said  Grace,  coming 
up  in  her  impatience  to  thrust  her  hand  within  his 
arm.  "Why  are  you  so  blind  as  not  to  see  that 
Erskine  is  just  the  person  for  Amy  ?  Mrs.  Gray 
would  never  think  of  marrying  again.  Why  should 
she  ?  Look  at  her  position.  She  is  perfectly  happy. 
In  the  first  place,  she  is  a  widow — " 

"Thank  you  for  the  hint,"  said  her  husband. 

" — she  has  a  house  and  fortune,  nobody  to  con 
tradict  her,  liberty  to  travel  when  and  where  she 
pleases,  to  indulge  all  her  tastes.  How  stupid  it  is 
for  such  women  to  want  to  marry,  when  this  world 
is  so  full  of  nice  girls,  and  there  are  so  few  nice 
men !" 

"With  what  dash  does  this  unblushing  young 
general  unmask  her  batteries !"  said  The  Counsellor. 

"  But,  you  know,  darling,  that  Erskine  has  been 
more  with  Amy  than  with  any  other  girl  this  season, 
and  though  she  did  not  care  a  straw  for  him  in  the 
beginning,  I  have  sometimes  thought  lately  that 
she  might  be  brought  to  fancy  him." 

"  And  why  bring  her  to  fancy  him  if  he  does  not 
fancy  her  ?"  said  Frank,  clinching  the  thing  in  what 
Grace  always  called  "that  hateful  manly  way." 
"Why  try  to  induce  a  state  of  affairs  on  the  hypoth 
esis  that  it  will  all  turn  out  as  you  like  ?  By  Jove  ! 
Grace,  I'll  tell  you  what  I  believe  —  you  women 
take  to  match-making  for  the  excitement  of  it,  as 
gamblers  take  to  cards." 


98  GOLDEN  -  ROD  : 

"You  are  very  low  in  your  way  of  putting  it," 
Mrs.  Thornton  said,  with  an  air  of  fine  scorn.  "  I 
don't  suppose  it  makes  the  least  difference  to  you 
that  a  woman's  feelings  may  be  concerned.  Only, 
dear" — and  with  a  sudden  change  of  base  she  drew 
so  near  to  him  that  her  cheek  touched  his  shoulder 
— "  you  are  so  good  and  kind  to  our  darling  Amy, 
that  if  anything  should  come  of  this,  I  know  you 
won't  spoil  everything  by  talking  to  Mr.  Erskine 
about  goddesses  and  all  that,  or  putting  it  into  his 
head  that  he  is  in  love  with  Mrs.  Gray.  Say  you 
won't,  Frank." 

"  You  have  revealed  your  weak  spot,  Grace.  You 
are  afraid  of  Mrs.  Gray." 

But  not  another  word  would  she  vouchsafe  upon 
the  subject.  She  became  as  sweet  as  honey  drop 
ping  from  the  comb.  They  sauntered  on,  amid  the 
booming  of  bees  and  the  nodding  of  clover,  the 
children  darting  into  the  sweet  vanilla-scented  grass 
in  pursuit  of  butterflies,  and  running  back  with 
"flowers  for  mamma."  Thornton  made  up  his 
mind,  like  a  sensible  fellow,  that  submission  to  au_ 
thority  was  a  cheap  price  at  which  to  purchase 
peace  like  this. 


IX 

AT  the  Indian  encampment  they  made  the  usual 
tour  from  tent  to  tent,  investing  small  sums  in 


AN  IDYL  OF  MOUNT  DESERT  99 

baskets  delicately  woven  of  the  sweet-smelling  grass 
growing  about  the  fields;  in  bows,  arrows,  birch- 
bark  canoes,  lacrosse  bats  strung  with  thongs  of 
deer  leather,  and  much  in  demand  by  the  critical 
small  boy ;  in  grebe  or  sea-gulls'  breasts  and  wings ; 
in  skins  and  feather  fans — until  even  these  insati 
ate  shoppers  cried  "  Enough  !" 

At  the  last  tent  the  children  paused  in  admira 
tion  of  a  very  stolid-looking  pappoose  overflowing 
with  fat,  whose  mother,  a  handsome  young  squaw, 
with  her  hair  bound  up  in  a  red  cotton  handker 
chief,  and  —  shades  of  Pocahontas  !  —  clad  in  a 
black  alpaca  gown,  with  rusty  knife  -  pleatings,  had 
suspended  him  in  a  hammock  between  two  trees, 
while  she  sat  weaving  her  basket  silently  at  the 
opening  of  her  tent,  overhanging  the  water's  edge. 

Impressed  by  the  attention  he  received,  she  un 
strapped  the  pappoose,  and  set  him  on  his  feet  to 
confront  the  Blessed  Baby  of  the  Thornton  family, 
who  stood  gazing  at  the  small  copper- colored  ap 
parition,  with  awe  depicted  on  his  countenance. 
Then,  with  a  quick  sentence  or  two  in  her  own 
tongue,  the  squaw  reached  up,  and  taking  down  the 
topmost  basket  from  a  long  string  of  them,  placed 
it  in  her  baby's  hand  with  the  first  smile  she  had 
bestowed  upon  the  scene,  and  motioned  him  to 
present  it  to  the  visitor.  The  harsh  and  unwonted 
sound  had  the  unfortunate  effect  of  reducing  Thorn 
ton  minimus  to  bitter  tears,  welling  irrepressibly, 
and  not  to  be  stanched  until  he  was  safe  within 
the  strong  shelter  of  his  father's  arms. 


100  GOLDEN  -  ROD  : 

While  Mr.  Thornton  was  engaged  in  consoling 
his  infant,  and  inducing  it  to  bestow  a  small  coin 
upon  the  unwinking  and  sphinx-like  pappoose,  the 
other  lads  were  trying  to  investigate  the  interior  of 
a  small  plank  structure,  not  unlike  a  hen-house, 
built  behind  the  tent.  Out  of  this  came  sounds 
much  exciting  their  curiosity. 

"  It  must  be  pigs,  Indian  pigs,"  the  oldest  boy 
said,  solemnly.  "Please,  may  we  look?"  he  asked 
the  squaw ;  who  nodded  in  her  imperturbable  fash 
ion  ;  and  there,  inside  the  pen,  they  saw  two  small 
boys,  aged  about  five  and  eight,  poking  their  brown 
fingers  through  the  apertures,  and  gazing  out  cheer 
fully  with  their  bright  black  eyes.  Shut  up  here 
for  safe -keeping  and  general  convenience,  their 
mamma  had  obviated  all  the  usual  difficulties  in 
the  matter  of  seasonable  clothing  by  leaving  them 
in  the  costume  of  our  first  ancestors  before  the 
fall. 

"  Here  comes  nurse  for  Baby,"  the  boys  an 
nounced,  as  that  functionary,  in  French  cap  and 
long  apron,  and  an  expression  of  countenance  as 
if  she  had  ceased  being  surprised  at  the  latitude 
allowed  her  young  charges  in  this  remote  spot, 
came  briskly  down  the  path. 

"  And  now,  papa— please,  oh,  please  !  It  is  just 
the  day  for  mackerel-fishing.  Let  us  get  a  boat, 
and  row  over  there  off  Bar  Island.  We  can  stop 
at  the  fish-house  on  the  island  for  bait  and  lines. 
I  know  the  nicest  man  there,  papa.  He's  my  par 
ticular  friend,  only  he  smells  a  little  of  fish.  He 


AN   IDYL  OF   MOUNT  DESERT  IOI 

will  lend  us  lines  and  all.  He  knows  everything, 
papa — a  great  deal  more  than  you  do ;  all  about 
boats,  and  tides,  and  porpoises,  and  whales,  and 
where  the  blueberries  grow,  and  how  to  get  birch 
bark  off — oh  !  lots  of  things  !" 

"  The  Lilliputians  have  overcome  Gulliver,"  said 
The  Counsellor,  as  he  found  himself  being  dragged 
off  to  visit  this  Admirable  Crichton  of  a  fisherman. 
"  Come,  Grace  ;  we  will  put  you  ashore  if  the  sun 
proves  too  much  for  you." 

And  Grace,  nothing  loath,  we  may  be  sure — for 
her  heaven  on  earth  was  in  the  joy  of  these  three 
— followed  over  long  strips  of  birch  bark  drying  in 
the  sun,  past  where  the  Indians  were  constructing 
their  canoes,  and  to  the  water's  edge.  A  large 
flat -bottomed  boat  was  secured,  Grace  and  her 
umbrella  established  in  the  stern,  and  they  steered 
for  the  opposite  shore,  Frank  doing  the  main  work 
with  one  oar,  and  his  oldest  boy  manfully  tugging, 
as  was  his  especial  pride,  at  the  other. 

The  boy's  hero  was  unfortunately  absent  from 
his  usual  scene  of  duty,  on  a  deep-sea  fishing  jaunt, 
but  a  substitute  presented  himself,  and  supplied  all 
necessary  apparatus,  including  a  tin  can  full  of 
chopped  bits  of  raw  herring  for  bait. 

"  Now  you  may  land  me  speedily,"  said  Grace, 
as  this  odorous  object  was  deposited  at  her  feet. 
"  Put  me  ashore  just  after  you  round  the  island, 
please,  and  I  will  wait  there  cheerfully  until  you 
have  caught  Polycripp  himself." 

She  made  an    ineffectual   effort   to  induce  her 


102  GOLD  EN -ROD: 

younger  boy  to  remain  ashore  with  her,  and  seek 
an  asylum  from  the  sun.  He  refused  stoutly,  shak 
ing  his  golden  locks,  and  clinging  to  his  father's 
arm,  tenacious  of  this  first  permission  to  assume 
the  coveted  privileges  of  a  big  boy. 

The  boat  glided  off  again  out  of  the  cool  green 
shadows  into  the  sunshine.  Grace  climbed  up  to 
the  edge  of  the  wooded  hill  and,  half  hidden  in  a 
nest  of  tall  ferns,  sat  where  she  could  look  out 
under  shelving  boughs,  and  see  it  courtesying  on 
the  little  waves,  where  they  had  anchored  to  throw 
out  their  lines. 

It  was  one  of  those  days  in  Mount  Desert  waters 
that  make  everything  else  seem  tame  by  compar 
ison — intoxicating  in  the  fulness  of  midsummer 
beauty.  Grace  sat  a  while,  satisfied,  with 

"half-shut  eyes,  ever  to  seem 
Falling  asleep,  in  a  half-dream. 

There  was  a  sound  of  footsteps  on  the  slope  be 
hind,  and  Rosalie  Gray,  with  her  hands  full  of 
ferns,  came  along  the  path  from  out  the  sombre 
boskage  of  the  woods. 

"  I  have  been  rambling  over  the  island  to  fill  my 
jars  and  vases,"  she  said,  with  a  word  of  greeting. 
"  My  boat  is  beached  behind  that  bowlder  yonder, 
and  I  have  found  treasures  of  lovely  ferns.  May  I 
sit  by  you  and  rest  before  embarking  for  my  home 
ward  pull  ?  You  look  so  thoroughly  in  the  spirit  of 
the  place  and  the  day  that  I  envy  you.  I  think 


AN  IDYL  OF   MOUNT   DESERT  103 

you  must  like,  as  I  do,  to  be  sometimes  utterly 
alone." 

"  I  try  to  persuade  myself  that  I  do,"  answered 
Grace,  laughing ;  "  but  the  last  few  years  of  my  life 
have  been  so  spent  in  dividing  and  subdividing 
my  time  and  attention,  and  in  doling  them  out  to 
others,  that  I  am  afraid  I  have  lost  even  the  faculty 
to  enjoy  seclusion.  I  am  perpetually  forming  plans 
for  arriving  at  a  period  when  I  can  cultivate  my  own 
thoughts,  and  the  time  never  comes.  All  that  I 
ever  accomplish  in  this  world  is  done  in  desperate 
rushes,  as  if  I  were  behindhand  for  a  train  about  to 
start.  Sometimes  I  fairly  long  for  a  week,  or  a  day, 
when  I  can  sit  still  and  rally  up  my  scattered  fac 
ulties.  You  have  no  idea,  Mrs.  Gray,  what  an  un 
dignified  contrast  my  life  presents  to  yours,  for  ex 
ample." 

"I  have  a  very  clear  idea,"  said  Rosalie,  in  a  low 
tone,  while  her  look  expressed  the  "  star-like  sorrow 
of  immortal  eyes."  "  Ah,  Mrs.  Thornton,  believe 
me  that  there  is  no  epoch  of  a  woman's  life  so  in 
finitely  sad  as  when  she  realizes  that  in  all  the  world 
there  is  not  one  whose  happiness  depends  on  her 
self-sacrifice." 

"  Listen !  listen  !"  said  Grace,  springing  to  her 
feet,  as  a  merry  shout  came  across  the  water.  She 
saw  her  husband  bareheaded  in  the  boat,  waving 
his  hat  towards  her.  The  little  boys  were  waving 
too,  and  cheering  lustily,  as  they  pointed  to  a  fine 
mackerel,  shining  like  silver,  held  up  on  the  line  of 
the  proud  little  golden -haired  fisherman  in  the 


104  GOLDEN -ROD. 

stern.  "  He  has  caught  it  himself !  How  happy  he 
must  be,  my  darling  one  !"  Grace  cried,  sending  her 
blue  veil  fluttering  towards  them  in  response.  She 
sat  down,  her  face  flushed  with  purest  joy,  a  little 
ashamed  of  her  irrepressible  outburst.  To  her  sur 
prise,  Rosalie's  eyes  were  full  of  tears. 

"  Forgive  me,"  Mrs.  Gray  said,  gently ;  "  I  am 
weaker  than  I  thought." 

"  Dear  Mrs.  Gray,"  Grace  said,  in  her  impulsive 
way,  "you  teach  me  how  to  value  my  blessings. 
Only  to-day  I  spoke  to  my  husband  about  your  lot, 
as  being  the  most  enviable  one  a  woman  ever  had." 

o 

"  And  yet  you  would  not  change  with  me !" 
Rosalie  said,  with  a  sad  smile.  "  We  shall  be  better 
friends,  I  think,  henceforth.  It  will  do  me  good  to 
know  you  and  yours,  for  I  am  very  poor  in  friends. 
And  that  sweet  little  sister  of  yours,  too.  If  I  could, 
I  should  like  to  be  her  friend.  What  a  blessing  her 
fresh  young  companionship  must  be  to  you  always  !" 

"  I  am  afraid  I  have  almost  too  much  for  my 
share,"  Grace  said,  stopping  to  think  what  she 
would  be  without  Frank,  or  her  boys,  or  Amy; 
which  of  them  she  could  by  any  possibility  give 
up ;  what  wealth  or  power  would  make  amends  to 
her  for  losing  these.  "  I  am  glad  you  like  Amy,  for 
she  is  a  darling.  She  feels  for  you  that  sort  of 
championing  admiration  a  girl  sometimes  cherishes 
in  secret  for  a  woman  older  and  more  brilliant  than 
herself.  Dear  little  Amy!  We  are  orphans,  as  you 
know,  and  her  happiness  is  very  near  to  me." 

"And  there  is  no  claim  on  her  still  nearer?"  said 


AN   IDYL   OF  MOUNT   DESERT  105 

Rosalie,  turning  aside  to  strip  a  birch  bough  of  its 
leaves.  "  You  probably  know  what  is  the  common 
report  here  of  her  engagement  with  our  friend  Mr. 
Erskine.  Surely  you  could  not  do  more  wisely  than 
commit  her  happiness  to  the  keeping  of  a  man  like 
that?" 

Grace  started  and,  with  her  husband's  hint  still 
fresh  in  her  memory,  looked  narrowly  at  Mrs.  Gray; 
but  there  was  no  indication  of  anything  more  than 
delicate  womanly  solicitude,  and  she  breathed  a 
sigh  of  positive  relief. 

"  If  I  were  to  tell  you  how  much  I  had  set  my  heart 
on  the  reality  of  that,  you  would  laugh  at  me,  prob 
ably,  as  Frank  does.  I  have  no  reason  to  believe 
in  it — as  yet ;  that  is  the  candid  truth ;  but  I  know 
they  have  been  together  constantly,  and  I  have 
sometimes  thought  —  on  Amy's  side  —  I  beg  your 
pardon,  Mrs.  Gray,  and  Amy's  too,  for  discussing 
her  affairs  in  this  way.  I  am  sure  I  don't  know 
what  tempted  me ;"  and  Grace  recovered  herself, 
with  a  feeling  of  actual  guilt. 

"  Shall  I  tell  you  what  tempted  you  ?"  Rosalie 
said,  taking  her  hand,  and  speaking  with  irresistible 
simplicity.  "  Was  it  not  because  you  felt  that  the 
name  and  maidenly  reserve  of  a  young  girl  are  as 
safe  in  my  hands  as  if  I  were  her  sister  or  her 
mother  ?  Be  sure  now  that  you  can  trust  me,  and 
rely  on  me." 

The  fishing-boat  touched  shore,  and  shrill  young 
voices  filled  the  air  with  twittering,  like  early  birds 
of  spring.  Grace  was  borne  away  in  triumph,  to  be 


io6  GOLDEN -ROD: 

installed  amid  piles  of  silver-bellied  mackerel,  three 
of  them  claimed  as  the  especial  spoil  of  her  little 
sunburned  rogue. 

Rosalie  was  left  alone.  Soon  she  was  seated  in 
her  boat,  and  pulling  homeward  with  that  long  light 
stroke  at  once  the  envy  and  admiration  of  every 
woman  on  the  island. 


THE  season  at  Mount  Desert  is  comparatively 
short,  and  the  earliest  days  of  autumn  find  the 
hotels  sadly  thinned  of  guests.  By  the  middle  of 
September,  the  most  beautiful  part  of  the  year  in 
that  region,  almost  every  one  has  vanished. 

Some  of  our  friends  lingered  on  after  the  close 
of  August.  Frank  Thornton,  having  gone  back  to 
town  for  an  interval  of  solitary  work,  finding  it  more 
than  he  could  bear,  had  returned  to  Bar  Harbor  to 
take  possession  of  his  family.  They,  with  Amy 
North,  were  to  leave  in  a  few  days. 

Mrs.  Gray  and  the  Carsons,  making  up  their 
minds  that  no  place  would  suit  them  half  so  well 
until  they  should  go  to  the  Berkshire  hills,  had 
determined  to  remain. 

Erskine,  whose  first  visit  to  Bar  Harbor  had 
lasted  much  longer  than  originally  intended,  had 
gone  back  finally  to  New  York,  and  now  reappeared 
upon  the  scene,  to  be  consigned  with  remarkable 


AN   IDYL  OF   MOUNT  DESERT  107 

unanimity  of  public  voice  to  the  custody  of  Miss 
North.  That  he  would  accompany  the  party  upon 
their  return  was  a  foregone  conclusion.  Amy's 
friends  among  the  girls  had  begun  to  exchange  con 
fidences  as  to  which  of  them  would  be  bridesmaids, 
and  at  what  church  the  ceremony  would  take  place. 
When  they  had  almost  come  to  an  open  rupture 
over  the  rival  merits  of  veils  or  no  veils,  white  lilacs 
or  Jacqueminot  roses  for  the  bridesmaids,  one  of 
them  ventured  to  rally  Miss  North  upon  the  subject 
of  her  approaching  nuptials,  and  was  met  by  a  sud 
den  sharpness  of  rebuke  she  little  counted  on.  Old 
er  gossips  said  what  a  very  clever  thing  Mrs.  Thorn 
ton  had  done  to  secure  that  fortune  for  her  sister, 
as  everybody  must  see  Amy  had  been  from  the  first 
quite  thrown  at  Mr.  Erskine's  head. 

To  Erskine,  whose  whole  heart  and  mind  were 
filled  with  his  consuming  passion  for  Rosalie  Gray, 
these  reports  seemed  trifles  light  as  air.  His  con 
science  acquitted  him  of  anything  more  than  the 
frankest  brotherly  affection  for  Amy ;  and  he  laugh 
ed  when  he  sometimes  told  her  of  the  charge.  So 
absorbed  was  he  in  his  own  troublesome  state  of 
mind,  that  he  never  noticed  a  certain  almost  wist 
ful  gentleness  that  stole  over  the  young  girl  when 
she  talked  with  him. 

Poor  Erskine !  He  was  in  sore  need  of  some 
body's  love,  when  the  one  he  sought  proved  so 
elusive.  He  felt  like  an  automaton,  going  through 
day  after  day  of  meeting  and  greeting  Rosalie,  only 
to  go  away  cursing  his  folly  in  dreaming  he  could 


io8  GOLDEN -ROD: 

ever  wake  this  Galatea  to  a  response.  It  was  mad 
ness  to  waste  so  many  months  of  life  and  energy 
in  haunting  the  footsteps  of  a  strange  adorable 
woman,  whose  winning  tact  and  grace  kept  him 
within  the  bounds  of  civil  commonplace,  when  an 
unguarded  word  or  look  of  sympathy  from  her 
would  have  let  loose  the  flood-gates  of  his  tender 
ness.  And  yet — and  yet — at  times,  since  his  re 
turn,  he  dared  to  fancy  she  was  kinder  to  him  than 
before. 

It  was  within  two  days  of  the  time  fixed  for  his 
departure  that  Erskine,  clad  in  his  mountain  cos 
tume,  looking,  as  Amy  North  told  him,  with  his 
rich  coloring  and  sweeping  dark  mustache  under 
the  bold  curve  of  his  wide-awake  hat,  like  Fra 
Diavolo  about  to  sing  a  solo,  appeared  at  the  door 
of  Mrs.  Gray's  cottage. 

"  You  have  always  promised  to  climb  the  mount 
ain  with  me  some  day.  As  I  go  the  day  after  to 
morrow,  perhaps  you  will  be  good  enough  to  give 
me  this  afternoon.  Please  do,"  he  added,  plead 
ingly,  as  she  seemed  to  hesitate.  "  It  will  be  the 
very  last  time.  The  summer  is  over  now,  and  it 
will  be  all  changed  if  we  meet  again  in  town." 

Rosalie  let  fall  her  embrodiery,  and  went  off  to 
prepare  for  the  walk.  When  she  came  down  again, 
she  wore  the  dark  blue  dress  with  the  crimson 
touches  here  and  there,  and  the  kilted  petticoat,  so 
well  remembered  by  him  since  the  day  of  their 
first  meeting  in  the  cave.  They  walked  side  by 
side  across  the  yellowing  fields,  aglow  with  feathery 


AN   IDYL  OF   MOUNT   DESERT  109 

plumes  of  golden-rod,  and  his  eye  rested  on  her 
with  delight. 

"There  will  never  be  any  dress  like  that,  to 
me,"  he  said ;  "  only  there  is  one  thing  lacking — 
your  bunch  of  daisies  at  the  waist,  and  another  in 
your  hat." 

"  The  daisies  are  all  gone  now,  so  I  must  take 
a  substitute,"  she  answered,  lightly,  stooping  to 
pick  some  sprays  of  golden  -  rod.  "  How  will 
this  do  ?" 

"  Royally !"  he  said,  with  a  sudden  burst  of  his 
old  boyish  enthusiasm,  so  long  under  control.  "No 
flowers  that  you  have  worn  have  ever  seemed  to 
suit  you  half  so  well !  I  can't  picture  you  without 
flowers,  but  I  think  when  I  wake  up  in  paradise,  I 
shall  like  to  see  you  standing  there,  decked  as  you 
are  now,  in  these  tossing  golden  plumes — " 

"  Please  leave  me  out  of  your  pagan  arrange 
ments,"  she  said,  laughing,  and  coloring  deeply. 
"  I  am  more  inclined  to  come  to  the  painful  con 
clusion  that  Nature  is  giving  me  a  hint  to  leave 
the  daisies  and  betake  myself  to  her  autumnal 
garlands." 

She  made  haste  to  divert  the  dangerous  current 
of  their  talk  into  another  channel.  They  passed 
through  thickets  where  the  sumac  flamed,  tall  grasses 
bent  beneath  their  weight  of  fruitage,  and  giant 
brakes  spread  out  their  layers  of  green.  In  the 
hollows,  where  in  early  summer  hundreds  of  wild 
roses  opened  their  pale  pink  petals  to  the  wind, 
the  forsaken  plants  now  interlaced  their  briery 


no  GOLDEN -ROD: 

arms,  and  clothed  themselves  with  scarlet  leaves 
and  capsules. 

There  was  a  wild  autumnal  flavor  in  the  air. 
The  blue  of  heaven  was  overcast,  the  wind  with 
a  "  saintly  Memnonian  swell "  swept  through  the 
forest  aisles.  Far  out,  on  the  wide  Atlantic, 

' '  Through  scudding  drifts  the  rainy  Hyades 
Vext  the  dim  sea." 

The  autumn  gale  was  rushing  shoreward  fast. 

"  Are  you  afraid  to  go  on  ?"  Erskine  asked,  as 
they  struck  the  mountain  trail  and  set  their  feet 
upon  its  rocky  spine.  "I  don't  think  the  storm 
will  be  upon  us  before  night." 

"  Afraid  !  never  !"  she  answered,  the  spirit  of 
adventure  shining  in  her  eyes.  "  I  could  walk  for 
ever  in  such  an  atmosphere  as  this.  Besides,  I 
have  always  longed  to  view  the  coming  of  a  gale 
from  one  of  these  mountain-tops." 

After  a  long  and  toilsome  climb  the  summit  was 
attained,  and  they  stood  there  with  the  wind  hurt 
ling  around  them,  wild  and  free.  A  wide  panorama 
of  sea  and  shore,  hill  and  vale,  lay  at  their  feet. 
The  outline  of  distant  hills  upon  the  main-land 
was  dim  and  gray;  the  water  all  about  the  fairy 
islands  was  ruffling  angrily;  the  storm-cloud  from 
the  ocean  came  ever  swiftly  on. 

Rosalie  stood  upon  a  crag,  with  the  garments 
blown  back  from  her  beautiful  form. 

"  How  glorious  it  is  !"  she  cried.     "  I  have  never 


AN   IDYL   OF   MOUNT   DESERT  III 

seen  it  like  this  before.  Fancy  old  Spouting  Horn 
and  Thunder  Cave  to-morrow,  when  the  great  waves 
go  raging  madly  in,  to  break  and  scatter  in  a  thou 
sand  flakes  of  foam  !" 

"The  rain  is  nearer  than  I  thought,"  answered 
Erskine,  who  had  been  surveying  the  clouds  with 
some  anxiety.  "And  although  I  feel  a  natural 
hesitation  in  requesting  a  storm-inspired  goddess 
to  step  down  from  her  pinnacle,  perhaps  you  will 
remember  that  we  have  no  umbrellas,  and  that  the 
hour  is  later  than  that  we  calculated  on  to  begin 
our  descent." 

She  gave  him  a  bright  smile,  and  no  longer,  as 
in  the  ascent,  disdaining  the  help  of  his  hand, 
began  springing  downward  from  rock  to  rock. 

"  I  suppose  it  is  part  of  the  initiation  of  the  true 
devotee  to  Mount  Desert  to  be  lost  or  drenched  at 
least  once  during  the  summer,"  she  said,  gayly. 
"  What  if  both  befall  us  now  ?" 

Which  did,  indeed,  seem  impending.  Erskine, 
who  thought  that  he  recalled  a  cottage  situated 
upon  one  of  the  mountain  spurs,  had  taken  a  path 
leading  in  that  direction  rather  than  risk  the  long 
unsheltered  road  to  the  village  in  the  face  of  such 
a  storm. 

The  trail  they  had  been  following  stopped  ab 
ruptly  at  the  summit  of  a  cliff  springing  from  a 
grassy  plateau  at  least  twelve  feet  beneath  them. 
The  face  of  the  rock  was  unbroken  by  crevice  or 
projection ;  to  descend  it  by  ordinary  means  seemed 
a  thing  impossible.  Half  way  up,  the  green  branches 


ii2  GOLDEN -ROD: 

of  a  fallen  tree  arrested  in  its  crash  by  the  rocky 
wall,  spread  out,  concealing  the  trunk  with  masses 
of  luxuriant  verdure. 

"  I  know  where  I  am  now,  if  that  be  any  conso 
lation,"  Erskine  said,  after  a  rapid  reconnoissance 
of  the  situation.  "  I  spent  an  hour  down  in  that 
bed  of  ferns  this  summer  surveying  the  cliff  from 
below.  The  path  leading  from  there  is  a  cow- 
track  to  the  very  cottage  I  am  in  search  of.  But 
there  is  no  time  to  waste,  so  here  goes  !"  And  in 
a  moment  he  had  swung  down  the  cliff,  supporting 
himself  as  best  he  could,  and  crashing  into  the 
branches  of  the  fallen  tree.  Directly  after,  Rosa 
lie  saw  his  head  and  shoulders  emerge  from  a  mist 
of  green  leaves  before  her. 

"  Only  care  kills  cats  !"  he  said,  merrily.  "  I 
am  quite  steady  now,  with  my  back  against  the 
rock,  and  my  feet  firmly  braced  on  a  stout  branch 
of  this  friendly  old  tree.  There  is  nothing  for  it 
but  to  let  yourself  down,  and  I  will  catch  you. 
Don't  fear,  Mrs.  Gray ;  it  is  really  not  dangerous." 

Rosalie's  answer  was  instant  obedience.  She 
let  herself  drop  into  the  cloud  of  green,  and  was 
met  by  Erskine's  arm,  which  closed  around  her 
in  an  iron  grasp.  The  branches  snapped  and 
quivered  under  the  shock  of  her  fall,  but  the  old 
tree  bore  up  nobly,  until,  with  considerable  diffi 
culty,  they  made  their  way  down  its  sloping  trunk 
to  the  ground  beneath. 

"  That  was  an  exploit !"  said  Rosalie,  looking  up 
at  the  level  where  she  had  recently  stood.  "I 


AN   IDYL  OF  MOUNT  DESERT  113 

could  not  have  believed  it  of  myself ;  and  as  I  let 
go  and  came  crashing  down  upon  you,  I  thought 
it  was  the  most  abominably  selfish  thing  I  ever  did 
in  my  life." 

"  I  won't  tell  you  what  I  thought  of  it — yet !" 
Erskine  answered,  with  a  smile.  "  You  have  a 
great  scratch  on  your  forehead,  your  sleeve  is 
nearly  torn  off,  and  the  pretty  mountain  dress  is 
quite  defaced.  Here  come  the  rain-drops,  and  we 
must  make  haste  to  find  a  shelter." 

They  ran  together  down  the  steep  path,  parting 
the  overhanging  boughs,  and  reckless  of  where 
their  feet  were  set.  The  rain  fell  in  great  pelting 
drops  like  hail,  as  they  fled  hand  in  hand.  Ers- 
kine's  strong  clasp  and  his  firm  stride  were  an 
immense  help  to  Rosalie  when  springing  over 
mossy  rock  and  fern  thickets,  and  she  found  her 
self  involuntarily  quoting  the  fairy's  answer  to 
Puck,  "Thorough  bush,  thorough  brier,"  as  they 
stopped  for  a  moment  to  draw  breath. 

"  '  Thorough  flood,  thorough  fire,'  add  for  me," 
he  said,  "  and  to  the  world's  end,  joyfully,  if  I  had 
your  hand  in  mine.  There  is  the  cottage  at  last ! 
One  more  scamper  through  this  bit  of  wood,  and 
we  shall  be  safe." 

It  is  such  a  common  event  in  that  region  to  give 
shelter  to  storm-beaten  wanderers  that  the  good 
people  within  the  little  house  made  their  arrival 
quite  a  matter  of  course. 

"  You  did  get  a  pritty  consid'able  peltin',  now, 
didn't  you  ?"  said  the  old  woman,  who  escorted  Mrs. 

8 


ii4  GOLDEN -ROD: 

Gray  into  a  rear  room,  resplendent  with  patchwork 
quilt  and  giant  feather-bed.  A  little  fire  was  quick 
ly  made,  and  an  extraordinary  flowered  bed-gown 
produced  in  lieu  of  Rosalie's  saturated  garments. 
The  old  woman  bustled  in  and  out  with  cups  of 
"  yarb  "  tea  and  fresh  sticks  for  the  fire.  Upon 
Mrs.  Gray's  inquiry  for  the  gentleman  who  had  ac 
companied  her,  what  was  her  surprise  to  learn  from 
her  hostess  that  he  was  already  some  distance  on 
his  way  back  to  the  village. 

"  Here's  a  bit  of  a  note  he  writ  on  a  piece  of 
the  almynac ;  maybe  that  '11  tell  you  what  he  caP- 
lates  to  do." 

"I  am  off  to  tell  your  aunt,  and  to  fetch  your 
dry  things,  and  some  sort  of  a  trap  to  take  you 
home.  It  is  impossible  for  you  to  face  this  rain 
again." 

Rosalie  suppressed  a  strong  feeling  that  she  had 
rather  far  have  gone  with  him,  even  through  the 
driving  storm.  To  get  away  from  her  thoughts  she 
came  out  in  her  comical  disguise  into  the  little 
room,  where  two  old  men  were  sitting,  one  of  them, 
evidently  her  host,  a  shrewd  weather-beaten  speci 
men  of  humanity,  who  had,  like  many  of  the  isl 
anders,  a  regular  sea-flavor  pervading  him  like  a 
bit  of  old  tarred  rope.  He  was  full  of  kindly 
gossip,  and  the  absence  of  marked  provincialisms 
in  his  speech  arose  from  the  fact  that,  until  a  few 
years  before,  he  had  followed  the  sea,  and  knew  al 
most  every  port  on  the  two  continents. 

"  And  your  wife,"  said  Rosalie,  after  hearing  a 


AN   IDYL  OF   MOUNT   DESERT  115 

long  yarn ,  "  what  did  she  do  here  during  all  your 
voyages  ?" 

"  My  wife  !  Bless  you,  miss,  you  mean  the  old 
ooman  there  ?  She's  my  sister.  I  stayed  by  a  gal 
once,  but  she  died,  and  sence  then  I  han't  had  any 
speret.  I  means  as  well  by  the  gals  as  any  man  on 
the  island,  but  I  ain't  mannerly  somehow." 

"  Your  sister  makes  you  very  comfortable  here, 
at  any  rate,"  Rosalie  said,  looking  round  upon  the 
hair-cloth  sofa,  the  shells,  the  kerosene  lamp,  and 
the  irrepressible  tidies  that  banish  from  our  hum 
ble  homes  in  America  every  vestige  of  the  pictu 
resque. 

"  Well,  I  kinder  rub  along,  with  this  and  that. 
If  I  get  as  much  as  three  hundred  dollars  a  year  to 
keep  up  on,  I'm  rich.  There  was  a  Congregation'l 
preacher  here  last  year  from  down  to  Boston,  and 
says  he  to  me, '  I've  got  a  selery  of  five  thousand  dol 
lars,  and  it's  as  much  as  I  can  do  on  that  to  make 
both  ends  meet.'  'Five  thousand  dollars  a  year!' 
says  I ;  *  why,  you'd  oughter  have  a  gardeen  !'  " 

The  remembrance  of  this  scathing  scarcasm  kept 
her  host  chuckling  for  some  time  after,  and  at  inter 
vals  he  was  heard  to  murmur,  "  Five  thousand  dol 
lars  a  year,  and  can't  make  both  ends  meet !"  in 
tones  of  heart-felt  wonderment. 

"  This  is  your  brother,  perhaps  ?"  Rosalie  haz 
arded,  indicating  the  bent  and  patient  old  fellow 
who  sat  in  a  far  corner. 

"  Dear  me,  no,  ma'am ;  that's  only  Jabez  Stub- 
blefield.  He's  a  new-comer  on  this  island.  We 


ii6  GOLDEN -ROD: 

don't  know  nothin'  'bout  his  folks.  When  Jabez 
was  a  little  chap,  I've  heerd  my  father  say,  the 
cap'n  of  a  schooner  brought  him  along  this  way. 
There  was  an  East  Eden  man  tuk  a  fancy  to  have 
the  boy  do  chores  around  the  house,  and  he  ap 
plied  to  the  cap'n  to  have  Jabez  stay.  Cap'n  he 
didn't  exactly  like  to  give  Jabez  up  without  a 
kinder  little  swap,  and  the  upshot  of  it  was  the 
cap'n  he  took  along  a  fine  bull-calf,  and  the  man  he 
kep'  Jabez." 

"  But  that  must  have  been  —  dear  me  ! — ages 
ago,"  said  Rosalie. 

"  Yes,  Jabez  he's  a  pretty  old  man,  I  guess,  and 
he  married  here,  and  his  old  ooman  died,  and  all 
his  children.  They're  buried  on  the  island." 

"And  you  still  call  him  a  new-comer!"  said 
Rosalie.  "  This  conservatism  is  equal  to  anything 
in  the  Faubourg  St.  Germain." 

"  Well,  I  guess  Jabez  '11  stay  here  till  he  dies," 
the  woman  said,  as  she  came  in  with  some  food, 
which  she  proceeded,  not  unkindly,  to  administer 
to  the  poor  old  patriarch,  a  "  stranger  in  a  land 
that  knew  him  not."  "  There  ain't  nobody  left  now 
but  my  brother  and  me,  and  we've  got  enough  for 
three.  If  my  boys  had  lived,  miss,"  she  added, 
presently,  coming  to  sit  down  by  Rosalie,  and 
speaking  in  a  matter-of-fact  tone,  without  a  tear  in 
her  pale  blue  eyes,  "  ther'd  'a  been  somethin'  to 
save  for ;  but  they're  all  dead.  I  had  four  of  'em, 
and  they  were  all  lost  at  sea  except  the  one  that 
died  of  the  fever  in  port,  down  in  South  America. 


AN  IDYL  OF  MOUNT  DESERT  Ii; 

I've  got  a  picture  of  his  grave,  miss,  and  the  letter 
the  hospital  folks  down  there  writ  me,  under  glass, 
if  you'll  please  to  look  at  it.  My  husband  was  a 
sailor  too,  but  he  fell  out  o'  the  riggin'  in  a  gale, 
and  was  lost  over  here  in  Penobscot  Bay  when  we 
weren't  six  years  married." 

The  rain  beat  upon  the  roof,  and  Rosalie  fell 
a-musing.  Life  seemed  to  her  such  a  little  thing, 
and  love  how  mighty  !  Oh,  if  she  dared — if  she 
but  dared ! 

There  was  a  sound  of  wheels,  a  shout,  and  Ro 
salie,  expecting  the  arrival  of  her  uncle,  ran  to  the 
door  in  her  comical  attire.  It  was  no  sedate  elderly 
gentleman  who  sprang  from  the  covered  vehicle 
drawn  by  two  stout  mountain  horses,  but  Erskine, 
who,  with  his  arms  full  of  wraps,  bounded  along 
the  little  garden  path. 

"  Here  are  some  things  your  aunt  gave  me.  Of 
course  she  was  for  having  Mr.  Carson  come ;  but, 
actuated  by  purely  benevolent  motives,  I  would  not 
hear  of  risking  his  rheumatism  in  this  storm.  Then 
your  maid  was  proposed ;  but  the  vision  of  that 
fine  fly-away  French  creature  appalled  me,  and  I 
would  have  none  of  her.  Pray  make  yourself 
comfortable  now,  and  come,  for  the  gale  is  grow 
ing  steadily  worse,  and  the  wind  is  blowing  great 
guns." 

Rosalie  assumed  her  own  attire  and,  taking 
leave  of  her  kind  hosts,  went  out  once  more,  with 
a  strange  thrill  of  pleasure,  to  face  the  buffeting 
of  wind  and  weather.  Safely  consigned  to  the 


ii8  GOLDEN -ROD: 

interior  of  the  vehicle,  she  was  so  entombed  in  oil 
cloth  curtains  that  she  could  only  feel,  not  see,  the 
vicinity  of  her  friend,  who  sat  out  beside  the  driver, 
urging  the  sure-footed  horses  to  their  full  speed 
along  the  road. 

"Tell  me,"  said  her  voice  out  of  the  darkness, 
and  Erskine  leaned  back  to  hear,  "  about  your 
self.  You  must  be  thoroughly  wet  again.  How 
did  you  change  your  clothes  so  quickly  ?  Are  you 
sure  it  will  have  no  bad  effect  ?" 

"  I  prevented  such  a  contingency  arising  by  not 
changing  them  at  all,  but  took  some  brandy,  and 
put  on  my  ulster  instead.  Don't  give  me  a  thought, 
please,  that  is  not  of  congratulation.  I  am  the  most 
selfish  mortal  alive,  if  you  did  but  know  it." 

"  Home  at  last !"  he  added,  as  they  drew  rein 
before  her  cottage  door.  There  was  no  time  for 
more,  for  there  were  lights,  and  open  doors,  and 
welcoming  voices,  and  a  general  uproar  of  rejoicing 
over  the  wanderer  returned. 

"To-morrow,"  whispered  Erskine,  in  tremulous 
accents,  as  he  lifted  her  to  the  ground. 


XI 


WHEN  Mrs.  Gray  was  at  last  able  to  dismiss  her 
useful  but  too  emotional  Desiree,  whose  idea  of 
rising  to  an  emergency  was  to  wring  her  hands 


AN  IDYL  OF   MOUNT  DESERT  119 

effusively,  to  repeat  "  Mon  Dieu !"  a  great  many 
times,  and  to  proffer  a  tisane  of  eau  de  fleur 
d'oranger,  she  retired  to  rest,  but  not  to  sleep,  under 
the  shelving  roof  of  her  cottage  bedroom.  The  gale 
raged  with  increasing  violence ;  rain  fell  in  floods, 
and  great  bursts  of  wind  bore  incessantly  upon 
the  house  front  like  breakers  on  a  cliff.  The 
walls  of  her  little  summer  dwelling  shivered  with 
each  repeated  shock,  and  the  bed  vibrated  sensibly. 
Sleep  under  ordinary  circumstances  would  have 
been  impossible,  but  to-night  Rosalie  was  in  a 
strangely  nervous  state.  Memory  was  at  her  piti 
less  work,  conjuring  up  a  thousand  phantoms  that 
she  would  fain  have  buried  forever.  A  most  un 
happy  past  rose  before  her,  warning  her  against 
vain  indulgence  in  human  faith  and  love.  "You 
loved  once,"  it  said;  "with  what  result?  You 
trusted  once  ;  did  it  bring  you  peace  ?  Remember 
the  hours  when  in  anguish  you  prayed  God  to  re 
lease  you  from  a  bond  that  was  worse  than  death. 
And  more  than  all,"  chimed  in  her  better  self,  "  re 
member  your  tacit  pledge  to  a  guileless  girl,  whose 
fresh  young  love  may  confer  the  happiness  yours 
never  could  again !" 

Rosalie's  pride  came  to  her  rescue  after  a  burst 
of  bitter  tears.  "  It  is  an  infatuation,"  she  said  to 
herself,  almost  angrily.  "  A  woman  of  my  age,  to 
whom  vows  of  love  are  an  oft-told  tale,  whose  life 
is  filled  with  the  incense  of  perpetual  flattery  !  Who 
would  imagine  —  he  least  of  all — that  for  months, 
ever  since  our  first  meeting,  I  have  remembered 


120  GOLDEN -ROD: 

him,  and  retained  every  trifle  that  recalled  him, 
with  folly  worthy  of  a  dreaming  school-girl !  His 
roses,  that  I  traced  to  him,  and  still  consented  to 
receive.  Shall  he  ever  know  that  when  I  met  him 
at  last  face  to  face,  and  passed  him  without  speak 
ing,  it  was  because  I  had  resolved  to  crush  a  weak 
ness  that  made  my  cheeks  burn  when  I  thought 
of  it  ?  Since  I  have  known  him  here,  during  this 
lovely  summer-time  —  and  to-day  especially — there 
has  been  more  excuse  for  me." 

When  a  wild  wet  morning  dawned  after  the  long 
tempestuous  night,  Rosalie  fell  into  the  deep  sleep 
of  physical  exhaustion. 

It  was  verging  towards  mid -day  when  Desiree 
stood  by  her  bedside  with  her  dressing  things  and 
chocolate. 

"  Madame  Carson  desired  a  thousand  tender 
nesses  ;  and  there  is  a  monsieur — Meester  Erskine 
— below,  inquiring  for  madame's  health." 

With  a  fevered  hand  Rosalie  wrote  and  sent  to 
him  these  few  words  : 

"  I  am  ill  with  fatigue  and  loss  of  rest.  If  you 
go  to-morrow,  come  here  this  evening,  and  I  will 
try  to  see  you." 

The  lapse  of  hours  gave  her  resolution.  She 
spent  the  day  in  her  room  alone,  while  the  fury  of 
the  storm  spent  itself  upon  the  island,  giving  place 
to  a  heavy  rain  blotting  out  all  the  life  and  beauty 
from  the  view. 

At  the  Rodick  the  people  who  were  left  shivered 
through  windy  corridors,  wrapped  in  shawls  and 


AN   IDYL  OF   MOUNT   DESERT  121 

ulsters,  or  huddled  round  a  snapping  fire  of  birch 
logs  in  the  great  barn -like  parlor,  declaring  that 
they  had  been  sea-sick  all  night  from  the  rocking 
of  their  beds  in  the  gale,  and  would  leave  in  the 
earliest  boat. 

To  Erskine  the  day  was  interminable.  The 
Thorntons  tried  to  woo  him  into  their  little  sitting- 
room  ;  but  he  proved  a  sorry  comrade,  abandoned 
even  by  the  boys  (whose  delight  in  ordinary  times 
he  was),  who  with  the  instinctive  selfishness  of 
childhood  shunned  his  moody  countenance,  as  rats 
desert  a  falling  house. 

Grace  was  perplexed  and  anxious.  The  Coun 
sellor,  after  reading  his  rather  elderly  copy  of  a 
New  York  newspaper  till  he  had  exhausted  the  ad 
vertisements,  wandered  over  to  the  dancing -room 
at  the  Rodick,  where  Amy,  with  several  other  storm- 
stayed  young  persons,  was  organizing  a  set  of  glees 
around  the  piano. 

From  her  post  as  leader  Amy  saw  through  the 
window  her  friend  Erskine  stalking  up  and  down 
the  long  veranda  in  solitude.  She  made  a  motion 
as  if  to  beckon  him,  but,  on  second  thoughts,  re 
frained. 

When  people  met  at  the  early  dinner  hour,  Ers 
kine  was  absent.  He  was  striding  through  rain  and 
mire  along  the  road  leading  to  Schooner  Head, 
where  he  stood  upon  the  cliff  looking  out  at  the 
cold  gray  wind-swept  sea,  and  listened  to  the  mad 
dash  of  the  breakers,  not  yet  rested  from  their 
wild  night's  work.  When  evening  came  at  last, 


122  GOLDEN -ROD: 

"  the  spirit  in  his  feet "  led  Erskine  with  bounding 
steps  to  Rosalie's  home. 

Mrs.  Gray's  delight  was  to  have  a  tiny  sweet- 
smelling  wood  fire  upon  the  old  brass  andirons  of 
her  hearth.  To-night  it  sparkled  cheerily,  and  the 
student-lamp  burned  soft  beneath  its  crimson  shade. 
Beside  a  table  holding  her  pet  bits  of  porcelain,  her 
vanilla-grass  basket  with  its  tangle  of  bright-colored 
silks,  and  a  vase  of  Venice  glass  with  meadow  grass 
and  orchids,  Rosalie  sat,  her  face  somewhat  with 
drawn  from  the  light,  that,  dancing  over  her  black 
drapery,  brought  out  here  and  there  the  gleam  of  jet. 

Nearer  to  the  fire,. swathed  in  the  soft  folds  of  a 
pale  blue  Chuddar  shawl,  dear  old  Mrs.  Carson  was 
putting  the  finishing  touches  upon  a  high-art  sun 
flower,  worked  on  a  strip  of  kitchen  crash. 

Such  a  sweet  peaceful  scene  it  was,  coming  in 
from  the  darkness  and  the  penetrating  sea-damp 
without !  Erskine's  wild  fancy,  overleaping  the 
minor  details  of  a  luxurious  taste,  saw  only  the  fire 
side,  and  Rosalie  waiting  there — waiting  for  him  ! 
He  pictured  himself  the  proprietor  of  a  fishing- 
lodge  somewhere,  and  this  the  angel  of  his  hearth. 
Poor  fellow!  He  was  quite  out  of  date  with  his 
romances. 

They  talked  a  while,  and  presently  in  bustled  Mr. 
Carson,  who  was  a  musical  maniac,  and  carried  off 
his  wife  to  listen  to  the  singing  of  a  girl  with  a 
lovely  contralto  voice  in  the  adjoining  hotel. 

Something  in  the  irrepressible  joy  of  Erskine's 
manner  when  they  were  left  alone  sent  a  pang  to 


AN   IDYL  OF  MOUNT   DESERT  123 

his  companion's  heart.  A  strange  constraint  fell 
upon  her,  and  she  became  very  pale.  Suddenly  she 
lifted  her  eyes  to  his,  and  spoke  with  great  resolve. 

"  You  are  going  away  to-morrow,  and  I  have 
asked  you  to  come  here  this  evening  that  I  may 
tell  you  something.  First,  about  yourself.  You 
have  never  asked  me  for  an  explanation  of  my 
manner  to  you — my  one  unpardonable  rudeness  in 
the  early  days  of  our  acquaintance,  if  we  can  even 
call  it  such." 

"I  never  shall,"  said  he,  impetuously.  "It  is 
forgiven  a  thousand  times  over." 

"  That  is  like  you,"  she  said.  "  And  it  is  because 
I  know  you  as  I  do  now,  and  want  your  friendship," 
she  added,  after  a  moment's  hesitation,  and  in  a 
lower  tone,  "  that  I  must  tell  you  about  myself — the 
story  of  my  life." 

Involuntarily  a  wave  of  apprehension  swept  over 
•him.  This  confidence  boded  him  no  good. 

"  You  are  comparatively  so  young — for  you  can't 
be  more  than  a  year  or  two  older  than  I  am — and 
so  full  of  trustful  belief  in  everything,  that  I  hardly 
think  you  will  credit  me  when  I  tell  you  that 
I  am  a  woman  without  faith — restless,  unsatisfied, 
impatient  of  everything  commonplace  ;  wont  to 
touch  the  cup  to  my  lips  and  dash  away  what  I 
have  scarcely  tasted ;  fitful,  arrogant,  cased  in  an 
armor  that  is  proof  against  all  soft  emotion,  all 
lasting  tenderness."  How  stubbornly  she  wronged 
herself !  "  Years  ago  I  gave  away  my  heart,  and 
wrecked  my  happiness  in  a  marriage  lasting  long 


124  GOLDEN -ROD: 

enough  to  drag  me  through  all  the  tortures  of  dis 
illusionment.  I  loved  with  a  girl's  fervor ;  I  suffered 
with  a  woman's  capacity.  The  world  knew  nothing 
of  my  life,  for  to  outward  appearance  I  had  all  that 
a  woman's  ambition  could  ask.  Beauty,  power, 
wealth,  a  husband  courted  and  popular;  and  I 
was,  as  I  am,  very  proud.  If  we  all  wore  our 
hearts  in  view  under  glass,  like  the  people  in  the 
'  Palace  of  Truth,'  how  many  of  the  prosperous 
of  your  acquaintance  would  be  envied  long,  do 
you  think?  It  is  not  fit  that  I  should  raise  for  you 
the  curtain  over  my  uncongenial  domestic  life. 
Such  things  are  common  enough,  Heaven  knows  ? 
I  have  been  free  now  for  some  years,  and  I  sup 
pose — happy.  Only  you  will  see  that  I  am  not 
quite  the  woman  you  have  thought  me." 

How  bitterly  she  spoke  !  With  what  passion  her 
low  voice  trembled  !  Erskine  sat  motionless.  The 
light  had  gone  out  of  everything,  he  thought ;  even 
the  wood  fire  ceased  to  sparkle  on  the  hearth.  By- 
and-by  she  resumed,  but  in  a  far  gentler  tone : 

"  I  have  let  you  see  enough  of  my  real  self,  for  it 
has  given  you  pain.  We  shall  part  now,  and  you 
must  try  to  forget  the  woman  who  has  crossed  your 
path.  For  me  everything  is  finished ;  for  you  it  has 
only  begun.  Strength,  talent,  high  aims,  will  carry 
you  onward.  Let  me  hear  from  you  again  when 
you  have  won  the  love  of  some  gentle  girl,  who  will 
come  to  me  and  claim  me  as  her  friend.  For  all 
that  you  have  done  for  me  and  been  to  me  I  thank 
you  again  and  again.  If  I  have  learned  to  believe 


AN  IDYL  OF  MOUNT  DESERT  125 

in  friendship  once  more,  it  is  you  who  have  taught 
me." 

"  And  you  tell  me  to  forget  you  !"  he  began, 
passionately,  but  was  stopped  by  the  pitiful  sad 
ness  of  her  eyes. 

The  little  French  clock  upon  the  mantel-shelf 
ticked  with  the  beating  of  his  heart.  A  burst  of 
wind  came  wandering  about  the  house  like  an  aim 
less  soul  in  pain.  He  looked  at  her  for  a  moment 
without  speaking,  then  took  his  leave. 

The  steamer  Lewiston  bore  away  next  day  a 
large  gleaning  from  the  crop  of  lingering  visitors, 
among  them  the  Thornton  family,  not  quite  so 
buoyant  as  when  they^came  (who  ever  does  leave 
a  pleasant  summer  place  quite  cheerfully?),  and 
Erskine. 

As  the  boat  ploughed  her  way  past  all  the  well- 
remembered  haunts  on  "  cliff  and  scar,"  he.  was 
standing  alone  by  the  railing,  looking  back.  Amy 
North  left  her  family  and  came  to  join  him. 

"  May  I  speak  to  you  ?"  she  asked,  with  a  girl's 
vivid  blush  suffusing  neck  and  cheek  and  brow. 

"  Certainly,"  he  said,  rather  wondering. 

"  It  may  be  very  rude  of  me  to  dare,  but  I  can't 
help  it.  I  will  never  speak  of  it  again.  I  have 
never  spoken  of  it  to  any  one  before."  She  seemed 
for  a  moment  unable  to  go  on  for  the  faltering  in 
her  voice.  "  I  don't  think  anybody  has  realized 
what  you  have  been  suffering  this  summer  except 
myself.  I  know  Frank  does  not,  or  Grace.  But 


126  GOLDEN -ROD: 

I  must  tell  you  that  I  believe — oh  !  I  am  quite 
sure — she  cares,  too." 

And  then,  red  as  a  June  rose,  and  rather  tearful, 
poor  Amy  fled  away. 


XII 


AMONG  the  "  distinguished  departures  "  for  Eu 
rope  duly  chronicled  by  the  newspapers  early  in 
October  was  that  of  "  Mrs.  Caspar  Gray  and  maid." 
The  gay  world  over  after-dinner  coffee,  and  on  the 
club-house  portico  at  the  Jerome  Park  races,  re 
gretted  that  her  house  would  be  shut  up  during 
the  coming  season. 

"  A  woman  like  that  is  an  immense  loss  to  so 
ciety,  by  Jove !"  Mr.  Watson  Webster  said,  con 
fidentially,  to  a  stranger  whom  he  desired  to  im 
press  with  his  own  exclusiveness  ;  "  or,  I  should 
say,  to  a  few  of  us  whom  she  especially  affected. 
She  did  not  even  show  at  Newport  this  year,  but 
went  off  and  buried  herself  among  the  aborigines 
somewhere.  You  see,  the  trouble  is,  my  dear  fel 
low,  New  York  can't  hold  her  stars.  I'm  thinking 
of  a  run  over  to  make  half  a  dozen  country  visits 
in  England  myself." 

Grace  Thornton  was  plunged  anew  into  her  vor 
tex  of  philanthropic  engagements.  It  was  a  great 
blow  to  her  to  find  that  Erskine  and  Amy,  though 


AN  IDYL  OF  MOUNT  DESERT  127 

still  good  friends,  had  no  apparent  intention  of 
ever  assuming  any  closer  bond.  Erskine  was,  dur 
ing  that  winter,  entirely  given  over  to  hard  work. 
Society  forgot  him,  and  it  was  only  at  rare  intervals 
that  he  dropped  in  upon  the  Thorntons  to  dine, 
romp  with  the  boys,  listen  to  Amy's  ballads,  and  dis 
cuss  with  The  Counsellor  some  knotty  point  of  law. 

And  Amy,  what  of  her  ?  What  of  all  such 
Amys  in  the  world  ?  They  dress  and  dance,  and 
beautify  and  cheer  their  homes  as  usual.  When 
Lent  set  in,  Amy  became  the  zealous  leader  of  a 
fashionable  sewing  circle  for  the  poor,  and  her 
little  class  of  Five  Points  ragged  boys  found  her 
more  than  ever  worthy  of  their  adoring  champion 
ship.  When  Amy  laid  hold  of  anything  to  do,  she 
did  it  with  her  might. 

Again  it  was  summer-time.  Sitting  one  day 
wearily  working  in  his  office  there  came  to  Ers 
kine  from  Newport,  in  Amy's  well-known  dashing 
hand,  a  little  note,  like  a  waft  of  cooling  wind. 

"  Did  you  know  that  Mrs.  Gray  has  returned, 
and  is  on  her  way,  if  she  has  not  already  gone,  to 
Bar  Harbor  ?  Grace  and  I  find  our  life  here  at 
this  headquarters  of  swelldom  rather  tame  after 
Mount  Desert. 

"I  rebel  against  eight -button  gloves  and  lace 
parasols  and  basket -phaetons  and  morning  calls; 
but  Grace,  who  is  at  heart  a  snob,  I  tell  her,  likes 
it,  and  persuades  herself  that  she  is  doing  it  all  in 
order  to  be  '  nearer  to  darling  Frank.'  " 


128  GOLDEN -ROD: 

It  is  one  of  the  inalienable  charms  of  that  "  Sum 
mer  isle  of  Eden,"  lying  off  the  coast  of  Maine, 
that  in  the  height  of  the  thronged  season  one  can 
always  find  some  forest  solitude, 

"Where  the  gloom  divine  is  all  around, 
And  underneath  is  the  mossy  ground — " 

or  a  cave  in  the  rocks,  to  sit  gazing  down  into  pools 
filled  with  starry  anemones  and  all  the  multitudi 
nous  life  of  the  sea,  and  be  lulled  into  repose  by 
harmonies  of  wind  and  wave. 

At  what,  viewed  in  the  wonderfully  clear  atmos 
phere,  seems  a  stone's-throw  from  the  main-land, 
a  rock  rises  from  Frenchman's  Bay  whose  waves 
go  courtesying  up  to  powder  it  with  spray.  This 
proves,  upon  close  inspection,  to  be  a  superb  mass, 
riven  asunder  by  a  chasm,  where  at  high  tide  the 
surf  speeds  in  over  beds  of  sea -weed,  and,  reced 
ing,  leaves  its  tribute  of  a  hundred  starfish  there. 
The  tinting  of  the  rocks,  of  red  and  blue  and  gold 
and  purple,  is  blended  with  indescribable  mellow 
ness,  and  where  the  bare  summits  rise  sea-gulls 
make  their  nests.  Westward  a  bar  of  pebbly  beach 
extends,  where  at  low  tide  one  may  gather  a  boat 
load  of  sea-wonders,  coral,  shells,  and  weed. 

One  afternoon  a  canoe  shot  across  the  water 
and  headed  for  this  point.  Its  occupant,  a  gentle 
man,  sprang  eagerly  ashore,  and  lifted  his  frail  craft 
upon  the  rocks  above  the  line  of  the  advancing  tide. 
A  few  vigorous  strides  bore  him  to  the  summit  of 


AN  IDYL  OF   MOUNT  DESERT  129 

Bald  Rock,  where  a  flag -staff  of  the  Coast  Survey 
indicates  the  finest  point  of  view.  His  impatient 
gaze  on  every  side  at  once  was  arrested  by  an  ap 
parition  on  the  ground  at  his  feet,  which  brought 
the  warm  blood  rushing  to  his  face.  It  was  a  wom 
an's  coarse  straw  hat,  tied  down  with  a  loose 
scarf  of  crimson  gauze  ;  through  the  knot  to  one 
side  was  carelessly  drawn  a  bunch  of  golden-rod. 

Immediately  he  became  aware  of  a  presence 
other  than  his  own  upon  this  desolate  spot.  There, 
under  an  overhanging  rock,  looking  southward,  her 
head  drooped  somewhat  listlessly,  and  one  fair 
hand  shading  her  eyes,  sat  the  lady  of  his  dreams. 

She  turned  as,  with  the  old  joyous  impulse,  he 
called  her  name.  In  spite  of  her  habitual  self-con 
trol  her  face  grew  very  pale. 

"  I  have  come  in  search  of  you,"  he  said.  "For 
an  hour  I  have  paddled  about  the  bay,  looking 
vainly,  and  at  last  fell  upon  the  device  of  climb 
ing  up  to  these  rocks  to  scan  the  horizon  with  my 
glass,  hoping  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  a  vagrant  boat. 
The  man  over  there  at  the  boat-house  told  me  that 
you  were  certainly  seen  pulling  in  this  direction, 
and  alone.  But  you  must  have  flown  up  here  on 
the  wing  of  a  sea-gull.  What  can  you  have  done 
with  your  boat  ?" 

"  I  left  it  on  the  bar,"  she  said,  with  some  sur 
prise. 

"  Then  the  tide,  which  was  rising  when  you 
landed,  has  carried  it  off." 

Rosalie  uttered  an  exclamation  of  dismay. 


130  GOLDEN -ROD: 

"  How  stupid  of  me  to  have  let  time  go  by  like 
this.  It  was  a  longer  pull  than  I  thought,  and  I 
was  tired.  Oh !  Mr.  Erskine,  if  you  will  be  good 
enough  to  look  for  my  poor  boat.  See,  a  fog  is  creep 
ing  up.  It  is  quite  time  I  should  be  returning." 

"  Impossible  to  leave  you  !"  he  said,  "  The  boat 
has  drifted  off,  and  somebody  will  find  it,  without 
doubt.  As  you  say,  a  fog  is  coming  in ;  and  we  are 
a  considerable  distance  from  the  village.  You  must 
come  into  my  canoe." 

What  inspired  him,  Rosalie  asked  herself,  that 
his  eyes  shone  with  such  delight  and  triumph. 

"  You  are  forgetting  your  hat,"  Erskine  said,  as 
they  picked  their  way  down  the  rocks. 

"  Oh,  of  course,"  Rosalie  said,  in  some  confu 
sion,  as  in  giving  it  to  her  he  broke  off  a  spray  of 
golden-rod  and  placed  it  on  his  breast,  after  signifi 
cantly  touching  it  to  his  lips. 

"  If  this  be  not  the  one  you  wore  on  the  mount 
ain  in  the  storm  last  year,  it  is  a  duplicate." 

"  I  am  afraid  I  have  an  eccentric  way  of  liking 
one  pattern  of  hats  for  the  sea-side,  without  regard 
for  the  laws  of  fashion." 

"  I  should  have  known  your  hat  among  a  thou 
sand.  I  assure  you  that  I  felt  like  Robinson  Cru 
soe  discovering  Friday's  footsteps  when  I  came 
upon  it  lying  here  where  the  sea-gulls  perch,  and 
knew  it  to  be  yours." 

Both  felt  that  a  great  many  commonplace  re 
marks  were  in  order  at  that  moment.  In  ordi 
nary  life  a  lady  dropping  quite  unexpectedly  from 


AN    IDYL  OF  MOUNT  DESERT  131 

one  part  of  the  globe  upon  a  "lone  rock  in  the 
sea,"  with  a  man  from  another,  is  naturally  ex 
pected  to  comment  on  the  fact.  Again  and  again 
Rosalie  tried  to  speak,  and  could  not.  All  of  her 
proud  confidence  had  failed  her  in  her  utmost 
need. 

"  At  least  you  should  tell  me  whence  you  came, 
and  when,"  she  said,  when  they  were  seated  in  the 
canoe,  and  gliding  swiftly  away  from  the  ever-less 
ening  pile  of  rocks. 

"  I  came  to  day ;  I  am  here,"  said  Erskine's 
happy  voice.  "  Now  if  you  want  to  know  for  what 
I  came,  that  is  easily  answered  too." 

Rosalie  was  silenced,  and  the  fog  overtaking 
them  just  then,  they  were  incontinently  blotted  out 
from  the  rest  of  the  created  world. 

"  Shall  I  tell  you  what  I  wish  ?"  he  said,  as  the 
delicious  sense  of  utter  isolation  with  her  stole  over 
him.  "  I  wish  that  the  fog  would  never  lift,  and 
that  we  might  float  on  forever.  It  is  like  heaven 
to  have  you  so  near  me,  after  all  these  months  of 
cruel  silence  and  separation.  I  have  loved  you, 
Rosalie,  and  followed  you  like  a  madman  ever  since 
my  eyes  first  rested  on  you.  There  has  never  been 
a  moment's  wavering  in  my  devotion.  Fate  has 
brought  us  together  again  and  again,  dearest. 
Why  not  hail  it  as  a  good  omen,  and  stay  with 
me  always  ?  Something  tells  me  that  I  was  a  fool 
to  have  left  you  so,  last  year.  Oh,  Rosalie,  do 
those  blushes  mean  that  I  am  right  ?" 

"  Oh  no  !  no  !"  she  cried,  with  as  much  energy  as 


132  GOLDEN -ROD: 

one  dare  bestow  on  anything  in  a  canoe.  "  Re 
member  what  I  told  you  of  myself.  Don't  make 
me  suffer  over  again  what  I  did  then.  After  all, 
you  are  taking  everything  for  granted." 

"  Tell  me  only  one  thing,  Rosalie.  Look  me 
fairly  in  the  eyes,  and  say  that  during  all  these 
months  you  have  not  carried  in  your  memory  what 
I  said  to  you  about  the  golden-rod.  If  you  do  not 
wear  it  now,  because  I  love  it — and  you,  my  beauty 
— then,  and  then  only,  will  I  give  you  up." 

What  was  there  left  for  her  but  royal  self-sur 
render  ?  Erskine  never  so  thoroughly  realized  the 
abiding  inconvenience  of  a  canoe  as  now. 

The  fog  lifted,  and  before  them  earth  and  sea 
lay  bathed  in  happy  golden  light.  High  towards 
heaven  rose  the  blue  outline  of  the  everlasting 
hills. 


UNDER  THE  CONVENT  WALL 


UNDER  THE  CONVENT  WALL 


ABOUT  twelve  o'clock  one  bright  February  day 
in  Paris,  Madame  Bourget  sat  waiting  for  the  ar 
rival  of  her  belated  scholar,  Miss  Cora  Bell,  a  young 
American  whose  habit  it  was  to  spend  a  couple  of 
hours  three  times  a  week  in  so-called  "elegant 
conversation"  in  the  French  language  with  that 
worthy  dame.  The  little  apartment  where  the 
teacher  lived  had  formerly  been  a  garret  over  the 
dependance  of  a  suburban  boarding-house,  taken 
under  some  stress  of  circumstances  by  its  present 
occupant,  and,  little  by  little,  with  taste  and  per 
severance,  it  had  been  made  to  "  blossom  like 
the  rose."  No  wonder  merry  Miss  Cora  liked  her 
tri-weekly  French  lessons.  The  walls  of  the  large 
room,  divided  into  two  smaller  ones  by  screens, 
were  hung  with  fluted  chintz,  all  flowers  and  leaves 
of  brightest  hue.  A  tiny  porcelain  stove  diffused, 
when  called  upon  (but  that  was  not  too  often,  for 
maclame,  like  all  Frenchwomen,  believed  in  econo 
my  in  wood),  a  friendly  warmth.  In  the  windows, 
whose  panes  of  glass  were  polished  like  the  speck- 
less  boards  of  the  flooring,  were  kept  plants  and 


136         UNDER  THE  CONVENT  WALL 

birds.  A  great  green  box  of  mignonette  in  flower 
sent  out  a  luscious  fragrance.  Vines  were  made  to 
start  from  behind  every  picture -frame  and  out  of 
china  jars  upon  the  shelves;  and  somehow  or 
other  they  grew  like  Jack's  bean-stalk,  strong  and 
green  and  luxuriant.  Best  of  all,  a  flood  of  genial 
sunshine  came  in  on  all  sides,  for  the  garret  boasted 
of  various  windows.  Where  madame  slept,  one 
could  find  out  by  peeping  behind  a  screen  at  the 
tiny  white-curtained  bed  with  the  crucifix  above  it, 
but  where  madame  cooked  no  one  ever  guessed; 
yet  she  had  a  fashion  of  producing  from  unknown 
corners  a  series  of  luncheons  that  were  nectar  and 
ambrosia  to  her  youthful  visitors.  Days  there  had 
been  in  madame's  past  experience  when  the  poor 
lady  had  known  what  it  was  to  subsist  upon  the 
slenderest  of  rations,  but  now  the  fame  of  her 
exquisite  embroideries  in  chenille  and  silk  was 
noised  abroad,  while  her  occasional  scholars,  like 
Cora  Bell  and  a  few  liberal  Americans  of  the  same 
set,  made  up  an  income  sufficient  for  the  widow's 
wants. 

Madame  Bourget,  sitting  at  the  open  window 
overlooking  an  ivy -covered  wall  that  just  here 
formed  the  boundary  of  the  Bois  de  Boulogne,  felt 
quite  wistful  with  regret  over  the  non-appearance 
of  her  favorite  scholar.  "  She  will  not  come  now," 
the  widow  said  to  herself,  as  the  inevitable  mantel 
clock  struck  a  cheerful  loud-voiced  "one."  "Truly, 
she  has  twined  herself  into  my  heart,  that  chere 
petite  Cora.  How  she  laughs  and  dances  and 


UNDER  THE  CONVENT  WALL         137 

sings  her  life  away !  Just  like  that  other  one — so 
many  years  ago."  A  shiver  ran  over  the  little 
woman's  frame,  and  she  closed  her  eyes  as  if  to 
banish  some  painful  image.  "  My  pretty  Cora  will 
never  know  so  sad  a  fate  as  hers,  thank  le  bon 
Dieu."  A  light  step  upon  the  stairway,  and  Cora, 
blooming  with  health  and  animation,  came  into  the 
room. 

"Don't  scold,  dear  madame.  There  is  time 
enough  yet  for  a  chapter  of  our  book  before  they 
send  for  me." 

The  lesson  began,  but  Cora's  attention  wandered ; 
her  thoughts  flew  off  at  a  tangent;  her  eyes  grew 
dreamy;  a  deeper  rose-color  settled  in  her  cheeks. 
At  last  a  little  white  protesting  hand  was  laid 
across  madame's  page. 

"  Bourget  dear,  I  want  to  confess  to  somebody. 
Won't  you  be  my  priest  ?  You  know  that  papa  is 
in  America  attending  to  business  always,  and  that 
mamma  is  forever  going  out.  I've  nobody  but  that 
stupid  Parker  of  mine,  and  talk  I  must  —  I  must. 
Oh,  Bourget,  if  such  a  thing  can  be,  I  am  too 
happy !  All  of  this  dear  blessed  morning  he  has 
been  with  me,  and  mamma  has  given  her  consent, 
and  we  are  to  be  married  soon." 

And  then,  the  flood-gates  loosed,  came  a  stream 
of  joyous  confidence.  Cora  never  thought  to  look 
up  at  her  listener  until  she  felt  a  hot  tear,  then 
another,  drop  upon  her  hands  clasped  in  the  wid 
ow's  lap. 

"  What  is  it,  dear  madame  ? — what  have  I  said 


138        UNDER  THE  CONVENT  WALL 

to  pain  you  ?"  the  girl  asked,  wondering,  to  be  an 
swered  by  a  fit  of  bitter  sobbing.  With  kind  and 
gentle  words  Cora  soothed  her  friend's  emotion, 
and  at  last  Madame  Bourget  was  able  to  speak 
once  more. 

"Forgive  me,  dearest  young  lady,"  she  exclaimed. 
"  In  truth  I  never  can  forgive  myself.  I  owe  it  to 
you  to  explain  my  weakness.  See  here  :  this  pict 
ure  which  you  have  often  caught  a  glimpse  of  in 
my  desk.  Look  at  it  —  judge  for  yourself  of  her 
youth,  her  innocence,  her  beauty.  She  was  my  only 
child,  and  I  have  lost  her  forever.  Years  ago  she 
knelt,  as  you  do  now,  and  poured  out  to  me  the 
wealth  of  her  love  and  happiness,  under  circum 
stances  like  yours.  The  rest  is  too  painful  for  you 
to  hear." 

"  Tell  me  more,"  the  girl  said,  tenderly.  "  I 
would  be  selfish  indeed  if  I  refused  my  sympathy 
at  a  time  when  all  seems  so  bright  before  me." 

Little  by  little  the  story  was  revealed.  Ten 
years  before,  Leonie  Blanchet  had  been  sought  in 
marriage  by  a  wealthy  Englishman,  to  whom  her 
mother  had  given  her  with  some  misgiving,  watch 
ing  her  go  from  that  modest  home  into  a  life  of 
luxury  with  many  anxious  fears.  The  husband 
Leonie  had  chosen  was  handsome,  young,  and  win 
ning;  he  had  convinced  her  of  his  right  to  a  rank 
and  station  far  above  Leonie's  expectations.  Leonie 
adored  him.  What,  then,  was  there  to  apprehend? 
The  widow  could  not  tell — but  still !  Leonie's  first 
letters  came  to  her  so  full  of  buoyant  pride,  of 


UNDER  THE  CONVENT  WALL        139 

confident  happiness,  that  for  a  time  the  mother 
could  not  but  reflect  it.  The  young  couple  were 
absent  upon  their  wedding  journey  in  the  South, 
and  had  reached  Rome,  when  a  thunder -bolt  fell 
upon  the  pretty,  trustful  bride.  It  was  a  mock  mar 
riage.  The  man  whom  Leonie  believed  to  be  her 
husband  had  left  his  true  wife  in  England— a  gay, 
fashionable  beauty,  sufficiently  "  emancipated,"  ac 
cording  to  the  notions  of  her  class,  to  scoff  openly 
and  lightly  at  her  husband's  latest  fancy. 

"  But  this  is  not  for  you  to  hear,  my  child,"  the 
little  French  teacher  said.  Cora,  who  from  motives 
of  delicacy  had  avoided  looking  at  her  friend, 
glanced  hastily  up,  struck  by  the  suppressed  pas 
sion  in  her  voice.  What  a  transformation  was 
there !  In  place  of  the  quiet,  repressed,  demure 
personage  she  had  been  accustomed  to  see,  Ma 
dame  Bourget's  eyes  were  afire  ;  her  cheeks  glowed 
with  a  dull  crimson ;  her  teeth  were  clinched. 

"Do  you  know  what,  had  I  been  Le'onie,  I 
should  have  done  to  him  ?"  she  went  on.  "  I  am 
a  Corsican,  and  the  blood  runs  hot  in  our  veins 
when  it  is  stirred  by  wrong — va  /" 

The  brief  passion  was  spent.  It  was  succeeded 
by  a  calm  even  more  full  of  meaning.  Cora  waited 
until  her  friend  could  trust  herself  to  speak. 

"  They  parted  then  and  there,"  Madame  Bour- 
get  went  on,  in  a  low  tone.  "He  did  not  defend 
himself.  He  simply  laughed  at  her  —  my  poor, 
heart-broken,  humiliated  child.  He  said  she  was 
too  innocent  for  the  times  she  lived  in.  And  so 


140         UNDER  THE  CONVENT  WALL 

she  was,  bon  Dieu — too  innocent.  She  put  all  of 
this  into  one  last  letter  to  me,  and  then  she  fled — 
fled  into  the  night." 

"  And  now  ?"  the  young  girl  said,  after  a  long 
silence. 

"Now  she  is  at  peace,"  the  mother  answered, 
quietly.  "The  Holy  Church  received  her  in  its 
bosom.  Le'onie  is  one  of  the  sisters  of  the  con 
vent  of  the  Sepolte  Vive.  For  some  time  past  I 
have  been  laying  up  money  in  order  to  take  the 
journey  to  Rome;  but  until  recently  it  was  all  I 
could  do  to  live  here,  and  to  go  away  from  my 
employment  meant  starvation.  Oh,  if  I  could  but 
have  seen  her  I  would  have  starved  —  yes,  gladly 
— but  that  is  impossible.  All  that  is  permitted  to 
me  is  to  visit  the  outside  of  the  convent  upon  her 
'  day.'  Once  a  year  each  sister  has  a  '  day,'  when 
she  is  allowed  to  throw  over  the  convent  wall  a 
flower  in  token  to  her  watching  friends  that  she  is 
still  alive,  but  there  it  ends.  I  know  what  flower 
my  Leonie  would  choose  —  a  bunch  of  fresh  white 
lilac !" 

"'Sepolte  vive'  —  buried  alive!"  the  young  girl 
repeated,  sadly.  A  shadow  seemed  to  fall  over  her 
life  and  her  budding  happiness. 

A  few  months  later  saw  the  Roman  spring  unfold 
in  all  its  glory.  A  party  of  tourists  were  visiting 
that  relic  of  mediaeval  days,  the  convent  of  the 
Sepolte  Vive.  Most  of  them  turned  back  disap 
pointed  at  the  threshold,  but  a  group  of  three  peo- 


UNDER  THE  CONVENT  WALL         141 

pie  lingered  until  the  rest  of  the  sight-seers,  after  a 
colloquy  held  beside  a  revolving  barrel  in  the  wall 
of  the  convent,  had  reluctantly  dispersed.  Over 
this  barrel  was  traced  an  inscription :  "  Who  would 
live  content  within  these  walls,  let  her  leave  at  the 
threshold  every  earthly  care."  Upon  these  lines  a 
woman  dressed  in  black,  standing  apart  from  her 
two  companions,  kept  her  eyes  fixed,  while  her  lips 
moved  in  prayer. 

The  order  of  nuns  who  have  thus  condemned 
themselves  to  death  in  life  subsists  on  charity.  It 
is  only  when  their  supplies  are  totally  exhausted 
that  they  are  allowed,  after  twenty -four  hours' 
starvation,  to  ring  a  certain  bell,  which  the  outside 
world  interprets,  "  We  are  famishing."  Two  Lents 
are  observed  by  them  during  the  year  —  the  one 
common  to  all  Catholic  Christians,  and  another 
held  between  November  and  Christmas.  In  the 
intervals  the  sisters  receive  and  partake  of  what 
ever  food  may  be  bestowed  on  them  by  visitors. 

Two  of  the  three  loiterers  were  young  and  hand 
some,  radiant  with  happiness.  That  they  were  new- 
made  husband  and  wife  none  could  doubt,  and  it 
was  a  pleasant  sight  to  see  the  wife  order  to  be 
brought  from  a  carriage  in  attendance  a  hamper  of 
abundant  dainties,  and  with  the  aid  of  her  husband 
proceed  to  unpack  their  store.  To  attract  atten 
tion  from  those  within  the  convent  the  young  man 
knocked  briskly  upon  the  barrel,  which,  slowly  turn 
ing,  revealed  an  opening  to  a  shelf  within. 

"  What  wilt  thou,  stranger  ?"  came  a  voice,  faint 


142  UNDER  THE  CONVENT  WALL 

and  far  as  the  note  of  an  y^Eolian  harp.  So  strong 
was  the  sense  of  remoteness  and  of  desolation  pro 
duced  by  this  sound  that  involuntarily  the  young 
wife  clasped  her  husband's  arm  in  shuddering. 

"  Oh !  it  is  too  sad,"  she  whispered  in  his  ear. 
"  I  think  I  shall  go  back  to  the  carriage  and  leave 
Madame  Bourget  with  you — may  I  not  ?" 

"  Nonsense,  darling.  Who  is  it  who  has  contrived 
and  carried  out  this  little  expedition,  I  should  like 
to  know  ?  Come,  cheer  up,  and  bestow  your  boun 
ties  upon  the  good  sisters  within.  Depend  upon  it 
they  will  relish  them." 

Their  presents  were  given,  and  in  exchange  our 
visitors  had  received  a  series  of  cartolini,  or  tiny 
slips  of  printed  paper  folded  like  homoeopathic 
powder  papers,  and  intended  to  be  swallowed  whole 
by  the  believer,  who  might  thereafter  hope  for  a 
cure  of  any  mortal  ailment  possessing  him.  As 
their  colloquy  with  the  unseen  sister  came  to  a 
close,  the  young  man  signed  to  Madame  Bourget 
to  draw  near.  The  mother  had  kept  a  veil  over 
her  face  while  standing  by  in  silence,  but  now  she 
sprang  forward,  and  uttered  with  feverish  anxiety  a 
few  sentences  of  wild  pleading  unheard  by  her  com 
panions. 

Fainter  and  farther  were  the  pitying  accents  that 
smote  her  ear  in  return. 

" '  Sepolte  vive,'  daughter.  The  grave  gives 
back  no  answer." 

"Let  us  wait  beneath  the  garden  wall,  dear 
friend,"  Cora  said,  as  between  them  her  husband 


UNDER  THE  CONVENT  WALL         143 

and  she  supported  the  steps  of  the  trembling  moth 
er  from  the  spot.  "  It  should  be  at  about  this 
time  that  the  flower  is  thrown,  and  oh !  how  it  will 
comfort  you  to  have  it  from  her  hand !" 

Underneath  the  ancient  wall  of  the  convent 
garden  the  little  group  waited  in  silence.  It  was 
a  moment  of  feeling  too  profound  for  words.  As 
the  hour  drew  near  the  mother  left  her  friends  and 
went  to  kneel  alone  upon  a  grassy  mound  where 
her  cheek  might  graze  the  wall,  as  if  caressing  it. 
For  a  time  all  was  silent.  Then  a  bell  sounded  the 
hour  with  slow  and  solemn  strokes.  A  bird  burst 
into  joyous  carolling  in  the  tree  above  where  Cora 
stood.  "It  is  a  good  omen,"  she  said,  glancing  up 
into  her  husband's  face.  As  the  last  stroke  of  the 
bell  died  upon  the  air  something  white  and  fragrant 
fell  at  the  feet  of  the  kneeling  figure.  "It  is 
Leonie's  white  lilac  !"  Cora  cried,  starting  joyously 
forward. 

But  the  mother  did  not  stir.  The  token  had 
come  too  late  to  awaken  joy  or  sorrow. 


CHERRYCOTE 


CHERRYCOTE 


"AND  you  expect  me  to  travel  over  nine  miles  of 
muddy  roads  behind  that  beast  and  in  that  rattle 
trap  ?"  a  gentleman  said,  discontentedly  surveying 
the  conveyance  provided  for  him  by  an  obliging 
countryman  residing  near  the  station  of  the  Vir 
ginia  railway,  where  a  train  had  recently  deposit 
ed  the  stranger. 

"Well,  'tain't  as  ef  thar  was  much  to  choose  from, 
mister,"  was  the  answer.  "  If  you've  a  mind  to  wait 
till  evenin',  the  stage  mout  happen  along.  But, 
bless  yore  soul,  sah,  ole  Buck  '11  carry  you  thar  ef 
you  only  give  him  time  enough.  An'  I  reckon  the 
buggy  won't  break  down  'tween  this  and  the  black 
smith's  at  the  cross-roads.  Thar's  string  an'  rope 
an'  a  lot  o'  nails  under  the  buffler-robe ;  an'  little 
Poss  here'll  manage  to  mend  the  damage  ef  so  it 
be  that  thar's  a  rock  to  pick  up  'long  the  road 
side." 

"  May  I  drive,  boss  ?"  was  the  hesitating  prayer 
of  little  Poss  (short  for  'possum),  as  the  dilapidated 
vehicle,  drawn  by  a  spavined  plough  horse,  got 
finally  under  way.  Looking  down  with  amusement 


148  CHERRYCOTE 

at  his  excited  petitioner,  Barksdale  saw  a  droll  little 
darky,  costumed  in  meal  bags,  hatless,  and  with 
plaited  twigs  of  wool,  who,  when  the  rope  reins  were 
relinquished  into  his  hands,  assumed  the  post  of 
charioteer  with  dignity  ineffable. 

Barksdale  forgot  Poss  as  the  overmastering  pow 
er  of  early  association  soon  took  possession  of  him. 
Ten  years  before,  at  the  outset  of  the  war  between 
the  States,  he  had  left  the  neighborhood  through 
which  they  were  now  passing,  and  during  that  time 
the  history  of  its  places  and  its  people  had  been 
almost  a  sealed  book  to  the  wanderer  in  many 
lands.  He  had  fancied  himself  weaned  from  his 
sentimental  love  for  old  Virginia;  but  here  he  was 
craning  his  neck  to  look  at  the  ancient  landmarks, 
recalling  rides  ending  at  this  point  and  picnics  at 
another,  his  cheek  flushing  and  a  lump  coming  into 
his  throat  like  the  veriest  school-boy  home  for  the 
holidays.  The  country  was  beautifully  green,  and 
as  old  Buck  plodded  along  there  was  nothing  to 
do  but  to  resign  himself  to  memory  and  anticipa 
tion,  while  the  wind,  laden  with  fragrance  from  the 
blossoming  woods,  blew  over  him  refreshingly. 

At  last  Cherrycote  Farm  was  reached ;  but  before 
they  could  enter  it,  little  Poss  jumped  down  to 
struggle  with  an  old  red  gate  of  such  persistent  in- 
hospitality  that  Barksdale  himself  could  only  force 
it  open  by  half  lifting  the  crumbling  gate-post  from 
the  soil. 

"  Barren  acres,"  he  said,  with  a  si^h,  glancing 
over  what  were  once  prosperous  fields  of  grain. 


CHERRYCOTE  149 

Grass  grew  on  the  roadway,  and  a  multitude  of 
little  blue  star  flowers  were  crushed  beneath  their 
wheels.  Emerging  from  a  bit  of  pine  woods,  he 
caught  sight  of  the  gables  of  the  old  house.  They 
at  least  were  unchanged,  half  veiled  from  sight  by 
Virginia-creeper  and  wistaria,  jasmine  and  roses. 
His  old  room  was  that  one  with  the  window  over 
which  grew  the  branch  of  a  mulberry-tree,  its  foliage 
so  thick  that  neither  blind  nor  curtain  was  required. 
As  Barksdale  gazed  he  saw,  emerging  from  the 
shrubbery  around  a  turn  in  the  road,  a  cavalier  be 
striding  a  sleek  mule.  This  was  a  man  seemingly 
between  thirty  and  forty  years  old,  his  once  clear- 
cut  features  overgrown  with  rlesh,  and  wearing  a 
brown  beard  that  swept  his  waist.  His  frame,  al 
beit  a  trifle  unwieldy,  was  muscular,  his  eyes  were 
of  an  honest  blue;  his  seat  in  the  saddle,  even 
though  the  mount  was  of  the  unenviable  class, 
admirable.  His  clothing  consisted  of  a  pair  of 
corduroy  breeches  tucked  into  spurred  cavalry 
boots,  and  a  nondescript  shooting  jacket  faded  by 
sun  and  rain,  with  a  broad-brimmed  hat  of  straw, 
showing  marks  of  home  manufacture.  At  the  first 
sight -of  Barksdale  his  brows  knit  inquiringly;  in 
a  moment  he  charged  down  upon  the  antique  bug 
gy  with  military  dash. 

"  Lance,  old  fellow  !"  he  cried.  "  It  isn't  pos 
sible  !" 

"  Hal !"  exclaimed  the  other,  simultaneously,  in 
a  tone  that  meant  much.  Immediately  two  hands 
met  in  fervent  friendship.  Since  these  hands  had 


150  CHERRYCOTE 

grasped  each  other  last  a  river  of  blood  had  flowed 
between  them.  Bitter  words  had  been  spoken,  hot 
discussions  had  raged,  party  strife  had  swelled  re 
sentful  hearts  ;  but  now,  when  the  half-brothers  met 
again,  neither  thought  of  anything  but  the  early  ties 
of  blood  and  affectionate  companionship.  Barks- 
dale,  thin,  active,  embalmed  in  an  atmosphere  of 
foreign  travel,  his  clothes  scrupulously  well  cut.  his 
speech  refined  to  nicety,  appeared  at  least  five 
years  younger  than  the  bluff,  sunburned  squire,  who 
was,  in  reality,  considerably  his  junior. 

They  were  the  sons  of  a  Virginia  gentleman,  who, 
a  widower  with  one  small  boy  when  he  was  hard 
ly  out  of  college,  had  consigned  the  little  Lan 
celot  to  the  care  of  his  mother's  relatives  in  the 
North.  Marrying  a  second  time  in  Virginia,  Mr. 
Barksdale  had  settled  down  to  a  peaceful  agricult 
ural  existence  on  the  estate  belonging  to  his  bride, 
"  one  of  the  Carters  of  Cherrycote  Farm,"  as  that 
lady  was  styled. 

Hither  Lancelot  had  come  to  spend  many  happ)i 
hours  of  irresponsible  holiday  in  the  free  and  easy 
life  of  old-time  Virginia.  Here  he  had  learned  to 
feel  a  sincere  affection  for  his  kind  step-mother  and 
her  boy  Hal.  But  at  the  outset  of  the  war  his 
Northern  training  and  sympathies  in  political  faith 
set  a  terrible  stumbling-block  in  the  path  of  family 
pleasantness.  Unwilling  to  contest  the  fervid 
torrent  of  secession  talk,  he  at  first  kept  silent. 
This  led  to  suspicion,  and  finally  to  open  warfare 


CHERRYCOTE  151 

on  the  part  of  the  generous  people  who  had  once 
extended  their  arms  to  him.  His  father  had  died, 
and  the  widow,  an  ardent  Southerner,  learned  to 
look  on  him  with  constraint.  Even  Hal,  merry, 
handsome  Hal,  who  had  adored  the  ground  Lance 
trod  upon,  began  to  quarrel  with  him.  There  was 
nothing  for  it  but  retreat.  Lancelot  returned  to  his 
Northern  home,  and  soon  heard  the  news  that  Hal 
had  become  a  volunteer  at  Manassas.  After  that 
there  was  a  long  and  painful  gap  in  their  relations. 

It  was  while  wandering  aimlessly  around  Europe 
ten  years  later  that  Lancelot  made  up  his  mind  to 
return  to  America,  and  to  visit  the  home  of  his 
fathers.  The  resolution  once  taken  was  acted  upon 
with  almost  feverish  zeal.  Now  that  he  had  again 
shaken  Hal's  hand,  had  satisfied  himself  that  the 
slim  lad  of  nineteen  was  still  somewhere  lurking 
behind  the  veil  of  adipose  matter  enshrouding  the 
man  of  twenty-nine,  Barksdale  breathed  a  long  sigh 
of  relief.  As  for  the  squire,  he  was  one  of  those 
guileless  natures  content  to  take  things  as  they  find 
them.  Barksdale's  foreign  airs  excited  in  him 
wonder  not  unmixed  with  amusement.  He  fell  to 
speculating  over  what  the  women  would  say  to  this 
importation  of  fastidious  elegance  into  their  impov 
erished  household.  In  old  times  Cherrycote  had 
never  speculated;  secure  in  homely  plenty,  it  had 
simply  flung  wide  open  its  doors  and  bidden  the 
stranger  in. 

"  Suppose  we  walk  the  rest  of  the  way,"  Barks- 


I  $2  CHERRYCOTE 

dale  said,  springing  with  alacrity  from  his  mouse 
trap  of  an  equipage.  "  I  have  so  much  to  say  to 
you,  Hal,  I  don't  know  where  to  begin." 

"  I  don't  walk  much  nowadays  ;  but  still — "  said 
the  squire,  getting  down  in  rather  a  ponderous 
fashion,  and  leading  the  mule,  followed  by  Poss 
and  his  spavined  steed,  along  a  road  carpeted  with 
pine  tags  and  bordered  with  wild  honeysuckles. 

"  I  haven't  asked  you  about  your  wife,"  Lancelot 
said,  when  it  appeared  that  the  question  could  no 
longer  in  common  courtesy  be  deferred. 

"  Kitty  ?  Why,  she's  splendid,"  said  the  squire, 
heartily.  "  And  if  you'll  believe  me,  Lance,  I  have 
six  young  ones,  all  girls.  The  old  house  is  as  full 
as  ever,  but  you'll  find  things  down  at  the  heel,  I 
reckon.  The  same  story  everywhere  hereabout :  no 
money,  poor  labor,  no  repairs ;  the  women  struggling 
with  inefficient  servants,  worn-out  furniture,  worn- 
out  clothes.  But  Kitty's  temper  don't  wear  out, 
thank  God !  You've  not  forgotten  what  a  splendid 
girl  she  was,  Lance  ?" 

"  I  have  not  forgotten  her  in  the  least,"  his 
brother  answered,  in  a  tone  of  slight  constraint. 

"  You  must  have  been  surprised  to  hear  I  mar 
ried  her.  When  you  left  I  was  far  gone  in  the  direc 
tion  of  Polly  Rivers,  of  Rivers  Hall,  you  remember. 
Polly  played  the  devil  with  me  ;  was  engaged  to 
another  fellow  all  the  while  she  wore  my  ring.  I 
saw  her  last  year  at  the  Old  Sweet;  and,  by  George, 
Lance,  she's  as  big  round  as  a  barrel,  and  has  three 
chins.  Kitty,  now,  is  slight,  and  has  kept  her  figure 


CHERRYCOTE  153 

wonderfully.  I  didn't  lose  much  time  in  courting 
her  after  Polly  bounced  me,  did  I  ?  She  was  always 
the  jolliest  little  thing,  was  Kitty." 

Lancelot  thought  of  the  time  when  he  had  last 
seen  Katherine  Morris,  one  of  the  many  cousins  of 
a  youthful  cousin  of  Mrs.  Barksdale,  on  a  summer 
visit  to  Cherrycote.  She  was  standing  in  the  deep 
grass  of  the  old  orchard,  under  the  cherry  blos 
soms,  in  the  spring  of  '61,  a  mere  slip  of  a  girl 
then,  with  large  dark  eyes,  and  a  weight  of  dusky 
hair  upon  her  small  proud  head.  He  remembered 
the  gown  she  wore,  a  sort  of  full-bodied  thin  white 
stuff,  with  a  sash  of  crimson,  and  the  trick  she  had 
of  interlacing  her  small  brown  Southern  fingers 
while  she  talked. 

"  Never,  never !"  she  had  cried  out,  in  an  im 
petuous  treble,  the  sound  of  which  still  echoed  in 
his  ears.  "What  I  promised  was  not  to  an  enemy 
of  my  country.  I  had  rather  die  than  marry  you." 

She  had  faced  him  bravely,  two  red  spots  flaming 
in  her  ordinarily  clear  pale  cheeks,  but  there  was  a 
tremble  in  her  voice,  as  if  she  would  have  been  glad 
to  cry  instead  of  speaking  defiance. 

Thus  they  had  parted  ;  in  the  course  of  time  Lan 
celot  had  heard  of  his  brother's  marriage  with  "our 
cousin,  Katherine  Morris ;"  he  was  to  meet  her  as 
the  mother  of  Hal's  six  girls !  For  a  moment  he 
felt  like  turning  back  upon  the  threshold  of  his  visit, 
but  while  little  vagabond  Poss  was  in  quest  of  re 
freshment  for  man  and  beast,  the  two  walkers 
struck  into  a  well-remembered  path  across  the  or- 


154  CHERRYCOTE 

chard  leading  to  the  house.  The  cherry  trees  were 
in  bearing  now,  and  under  a  green  arcade  of  fruit- 
laden  boughs  was  seen  a  merry  group  of  ladies  and 
children  picking  violets  in  the  grass. 

Lancelot  caught  one  glimpse  of  his  old  sweet 
heart,  recognizing  her  instantly.  From  the  girl  of 
seventeen  she  had  expanded  into  a  splendid  beauty 
of  twenty-seven,  lithe  and  brown  as  ever,  with  a  rich 
color  in  her  cheeks,  not  in  the  least  suggesting  a 
matron  oppressed  by  cares  of  maternity  and  house 
keeping.  Swarming  about  her  were  a  number  of 
affectionate  small  girls,  and  at  a  little  distance  stood 
Mrs.  Barksdale  the  elder,  looking  thin  and  care 
worn,  engaged  in  conversation  with  a  lady  whom 
he  dimly  recalled  as  another  Miss  Morris  of  the  by 
gone  days,  then  a  coquettish  personage  with  dim 
ples,  and  wonderful  plaits  of  hair  worn  in  a  crown 
around  her  head.  The  dimples  were  still  evident, 
though  the  cheeks  had  faded,  and  the  abundant 
braids  were  perceptibly  thinner.  Barksdale  took 
in  all  these  details,  while  struggling  to  control  the 
immediate  and  powerful  impression  made  on  him 
by  the  first  view  of  his  brother's  wife.  The  color 
had  receded  from  his  face,  leaving  him  quite  pale. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  you  ?"  asked  Hal,  in 
nocently.  "  No  doubt  our  Virginia  sun  has  been 
too  much  after  such  a  confoundedly  long  walk.  I 
say,  Lance,  if  you'd  care  to,  come  into  the  dining- 
room  and  let  me  mix  you  a  julep  before  you  meet 
the  ladies  !" 

"  Capital  idea  !"  Lancelot  found  himself  answer- 


CHERRYCOTE  155 

ing,  with  a  strong  effort  at  indifference.  He  suc 
ceeded  presently,  and  while  Hal  bustled  around 
among  the  decanters,  calling  for  ice  and  mint  and 
strawberries,  stood  battling  with  the  ghost  of  his 
younger  self.  The  trial  had  been  to  the  full  as 
painful  as  he  had  expected.  Often  as  it  had  pre 
sented  itself  to  his  imagination,  the  reality  was  not 
surpassed.  Her  face  had  shone  upon  him  like  a 
star  from  Alpine  heights,  across  wintry  seas,  in  de 
sert  reaches,  at  the  opera,  in  his  dreams,  on  the 
pages  of  his  books,  everywhere,  anywhere,  during 
ten  long  years  of  absolute  non-intercourse.  It  was 
not  until  she  had  been  Hal's  wife  for  several  years 
that  he  heard  at  all  of  this  marriage,  seeming  to 
him  so  extraordinarily  incongruous  and  unsuitable. 
He  still  could  not  reconcile  it  with  her  appearance, 
her  manner,  her  pretensions,  now  that  he  had  seen 
her  once  again  in  the  splendor  of  maturer  woman 
hood. 

The  jovial  good-fellowship  of  the  kindly  squire 
offended  him.  He  felt  as  if  he  could  not  bear  to 
see  husband  and  wife  together,  to  hear  Hal's  lanky 
girls  claim  her  as  their  mother.  But  Lancelot 
Barksdale  had  a  noble  nature  and  a  strong  will. 
Resolutely  he  trampled  out  the  fire  that  had  so 
suddenly  been  kindled  up  within  him.  Kate  was 
no  longer — it  was  long  indeed  since  she  had  ceased 
to  be — the  sovereign  of  his  dreams.  This  brief 
madness  at  an  end,  he  would  be  able  to  take  her 
by  the  hand  like  a  loyal  and  honorable  gentleman 
as  he  was.  His  reverie  was  brought  to  a  prosaic 


156  CHERRYCOTE 

ending  by  the  appearance  of  Hal  at  his  elbow, 
looking  like  an  amiable  young  Bacchus,  so  ruddy 
were  his  cheeks,  so  broad  his  smile  of  pride  over 
the  beaded  goblet  he  now  presented  to  the  trav 
eller. 

"  Drink  this,  my  dear  boy,"  cried  the  Virginian, 
"  and  if  in  your  travels  you  have  come  across  a 
beverage  to  beat  it,  may  I  never  compound  another 
julep  !" 

Absurd  as  it  seemed  to  a  man  of  Lancelot's  tem 
perate  habits  to  partake  of  stimulants  at  the  me 
ridian  of  an  afternoon  in  spring,  he  tasted,  never 
theless,  of  the  amber  liquid,  wherein  strawberries 
coquetted  with  sprigs  of  mint  in  a  mass  of  finely 
splintered  ice.  "  Your  brew  does  you  credit,  Hal," 
he  said,  gayly.  "  And  now  to  pay  my  respects  to 
the  ladies.  You  haven't  told  me  what  welcome  to 
expect  from  my  step-mother.  I'm  in  her  debt  for 
a  long  list  of  bounties  in  my  boyhood,  and  to  have 
been  separated  from  her  all  these  years  through  the 
estrangement  of  that  miserable  war  has  been  a  real 

O 

pain." 

At  this  moment  in  came  Mrs.  Barksdale  the  elder 
to  answer  for  herself.  She  had  been  told  by  the 
servants  of  the  arrival  of  a  guest,  and,  with  the 
usual  cordiality  of  her  kind,  hastened  in  to  do  the 
honors.  "  My  dear  Lance,"  she  cried,  after  a  mo 
mentary  survey  of  extreme  astonishment,  "  I'm  glad 
to  welcome  you  once  more  to  Cherrycote." 

"  If  you  knew  how  much  those  words  convey  to 
me  !"  returned  Barksdale,  with  real  feeling,  taking 


CHERRYCOTE  157 

her  thin  old  hands  and  kissing  them.  "I  am  alone 
in  the  world  since  my  aunt  died,  a  year  ago,  and 
the  ties  of  early  association  seem  more  potent  as 
we  get  on  in  life,  I  think.  At  any  rate,  I  have 
fairly  longed  to  make  friends  with  you  all  again, 
and  such  a  welcome  as  you  and  Hal  have  extended 
to  me  heals  many  a  wound  of  time." 

"And  I  am  far  too  old  to  indulge  in  rancor," 
said  the  old  lady,  tears  coming  into  her  eyes.  "  Now 
that  our  fearful  war  is  over,  I  can  regret  the  violence 
of  feeling  with  which  we  went  into  it.  Oh,  Lance  ! 
I  am  glad  your  poor  dear  father  was  spared  seeing 
his  State  conquered.  I  think  it  would  have  killed 
him.  But  let  by-gones  be  by-gones.  We  must  agree 
not  to  talk  about  the  war.  It  was  kind  of  you  to 
come  so  far  to  see  us  once  again,  and  we  will  make 
you  comfortable,  though  things  are  not  as  they  were 
at  Cherrycote.  I  am  sure  you  are  pleased  to  find 
Hal  married  and  settled  so  happily.  His  little  wife 
is  such  a  manager  I  have  given  up  the  house-keep 
ing  entirely  into  her  hands.  And  those  sweet  chil 
dren  !  Dear  me  !  here  I  am  forgetting  that  Kitty 
wants  you  to  come  out  to  the  garden,  Hal,  to  consult 
about  the  best  place  to  set  out  the  Lima  beans. 
Don't  tell  her  Lance  is  here,  for  she  has  not  the 
least  idea  who  it  is.  The  children  said  it  was  Mr. 
Lewis  come  to  see  their  papa  about  the  sheep. 
Such  nice  girls  Hal  has ;  and  such  a  good  mother 
that  little  flirting  Kitty  Morris  has  turned  out  to  be ! 
Lance,  you  must  be  taken  to  your  room.  But  here 
comes  Hal  again  with  his  wife.  Though  you  never 


158  CHERRYCOTE 

knew  her  intimately,  I  believe,  Kitty  knows  you 
well  by  reputation." 

At  this  point,  when  good  Mrs.  Barksdale  paused 
for  breath  in  her  flow  of  cordial  greeting,  Lancelot 
felt  his  temples  throb,  and  a  sort  of  mist  pass  be 
fore  his  eyes.  Through  the  opening  door  Hal 
hurried,  followed  by  a  lady,  and  in  a  single  brief 
and  blissful  moment  Lancelot  became  aware  of  the 
fact  that  Hal's  Kitty  was  not  his  own  "  bride  of  old 
dreams,"  whose  spell  went  with  him  still.  In  plain 
words,  Mrs.  Henry  Barksdale  the  younger  was  none 
other  than  the  cousin  with  the  dimples  —  also  a 
Katherine  Morris,  whose  given  name  had  long  ago 
departed  from  Lancelot's  recollection — had  he  ever 
been  possessed  of  it,  indeed  ?  In  the  confusion  of 
his  ideas  during  the  moments  that  followed  this  dis 
covery  he  was  absorbed  with  a  longing  to  satisfy 
himself  at  once  about  his  Kate— the  Kate.  "  The 
only  one  worthy  of  that  sweet  old-fashioned  name," 
he  said,  in  his  joyous  heart ;  for  lovers,  as  we  know, 
glorify  everything  even  the  homely  nomenclature 
of  ancestral  days. 

She  came  in  soon  to  answer  for  herself,  the  little 
girls,  as  before,  twining  around  her  waist  and  cling 
ing  to  her  skirts. 

"  I  wonder,  Kate  dear,  if  you  remember  my  old 
est  son,  Lancelot  ?"  said  good  Mrs.  Barksdale,  with 
an  accent  of  pride  in  her  presentation  of  the 
new-comer. 

The  evening  sunlight  slanted  through  a  western 
window  of  the  old  oak-panelled  dining-room.  Lan- 


CHERRYCOTE  159 

celot  stood  with  his  back  to  it,  his  face  in  shadow, 
but  the  searching  radiance  brought  out  every  ex 
pression  of  her  changeful  face  more  lovely  than  he 
remembered  it. 

"  You  have  not  done  me  the  honor  to  supply  the 
lady's  last  name,"  he  said,  a  new  fear  assailing  him 
as  he  took  her  hand  in  his. 

"  Still  Kate  Morris,  though  a  greater  belle  than 
ever,"  cried  hearty  Hal.  "  It's  just  occurred  to  me, 
Lance,  that  you  and  Cousin  Kate  used  to  be  famous 
friends  till  you  quarelled  about  the  war.  Don't  you 
think  it's  time  to  take  back  hasty  words  and  begin 
again,  you  two  ?" 

"  I  have  nothing  to  take  back,"  said  Lancelot, 
and  Kate's  cheeks  showed  that  she  understood 
him. 

"  Come,  come,"  said  the  kind  old  mistress  of 
Cherrycote,  "  as  I  said,  let  by-gones  be  by-gones, 
children.  I'm  sure  Kate  is  ready  to  start  in  again 
where  the  war  interrupted  her  —  now,  aren't  you, 
Kate  ?" 

"Are  you,  Kate  ?"  Lancelot  found  himself,  later, 
murmuring  where  she  alone  could  hear.  And  Kate 
did  not  say  him  nay  ? 


THE  SHATTERED  VIOLIN 


THE  SHATTERED   VIOLIN 


ONE  evening  when  the  cream  of  a  "  first-night's  " 
audience  flowed  into  the  Salle  d'Athenee,  in  Paris, 
where  the  great  Joachim  was  advertised  to  wield 
his  magic  bow,  among  the  row  of  first  violins  in 
Pasdeloup's  famous  orchestra,  grouped  upon  the 
stage,  sat  Gustave  Thorez,  a  gentle  old  enthusiast, 
with  a  trim  gray  mustache,  smartly  buttoned  up  in 
a  well-brushed  black  coat,  and  the  inevitable  bit  of 
red  ribbon  in  his  button-hole. 

As  the  concert  progressed,  and  the  listeners, 
crowding  the  pretty  little  theatre,  broke  into  wild 
enthusiasm  after  the  maestro's  unapproachable 
rendering  of  some  theme  of  Bach,  Gustave,  in  com 
mon  with  the  rest  of  the  orchestra,  took  up  the  re 
frain  with  that  applause  the  artist's  soul  loves  best, 
coming  with  generous  spontaneity  from  his  broth 
ers  in  the  guild. 

On  his  final  withdrawal,  after  repeated  calls  to 
the  front,  Joachim,  in  threading  his  way  between  the 
crowded  musicians,  their  instruments  and  racks, 
passed  close  enough  to  old  Thorez  to  be  arrested 
by  the  look  of  rare  and  dreamy  delight  upon  his 
wrinkled  face. 


164  THE  SHATTERED  VIOLIN 

"Thank  you,  man  ami,"  the  great  artist  said, 
kindly,  laying  his  hand  upon  Gustave's  violin. 
"  May  your  instrument  never  do  less  noble  service 
to  art  than  it  has  rendered  me  to  night !" 

To  Gustave  his  speech  was  like  an  accolade. 
Thenceforward  the  violin,  always  dear,  would  be 
sacred  to  him,  owning  but  one  rival  in  his  reveren 
tial  love.  His  comrades  smiled  when,  the  concert 
over,  they  saw  the  vieux  moustache,  shouldering  his 
treasure,  march  jauntily  away  with  a  glow  of  color 
in  his  pallid  face. 

Nearing  his  lodging,  in  a  quiet  street  beneath 
the  shadow  of  the  Pantheon,  Gustave  quickened 
his  pace  to  an  almost  martial  tread.  Mounting  the 
five  flights  of  a  stone  staircase,  he  gayly  hummed 
the  verse  of  a  popular  song. 

"  She  will  have  reached  home  by  this,  and  the 
supper  will  be  ready.  My  mouth  waters  for  the 
thigh  of  that  cold  roast  fowl  I  saw  her  put  away. 
Supposing  that  I  don't  tell  her  at  once  about  my 
grand  event  ?  That  will  keep  to  give  zest  to  the 
salad  and  the  cheese.  It  will  cheer  my  pretty 
Gabrielle,  for  she  has  been  a  trifle  triste  of  late 
Pretty,  wilful  little  Gabrielle !  I  have  sometimes 
feared  that  taking  Mademoiselle  Cheri's  place  in 
the  Cendrillon  has  turned  her  little  head.  Tiens  ! 
but  I  can  feel  beforehand  the  rose-leaf  touch  of  her 
lips  when  she  shall  stand  on  tiptoe  to  give  her  old 
father  deux  gros  bons  baisers  upon  the  cheeks !" 

Gustave  had  reached  the  last  landing,  and  was 
fumbling  at  his  door. 


THE  SHATTERED   VIOLIN  165 

"  Gabrielle  !"  he  called  aloud,  on  opening  it. 

No  answer,  and  his  face  fell. 

"  She  will  have  been  detained  to  sup,  no  doubt, 
with  our  good  neighbor  Madame  Bourget,"  he  solil 
oquized,  stumbling  about  in  the  dark  to  find  his 
matches.  "  What !  no  table  spread  for  the  hungry 
vieux  papa!  Careless  petite  Gabrielle  !" 

No  light,  no  tempting  little  feast,  no  kiss  of  wel 
come,  no  answering  voice !  Not  then,  or  ever 
more! 

People  who  cared  to  join  in  the  mad  struggle  for 
life  and  limb  leading  to  a  rehearsal  of  the  Phil 
harmonic  Society  of  New  York,  during  that  period 
before  the  society  fell  into  its  long  and  trance- 
like  torpor,  to  be  aroused  by  the  baton  of  the 
wizard  Thomas,  may  have  observed  among  the 
violins  upon  the  platform  at  the  Academy  of  Mu 
sic  a  blurred  and  sketchy  outline  of  the  old  Thorez 
who  had  appeared  upon  the  occasion  of  Joachim's 
de'but  at  the  Athenee.  The  warlike  mustache 
flopped  drearily  ;  the  eye  had  lost  its  power  to 
gleam  or  soften  ;  the  red  ribbon  on  the  worn  old 
coat  drooped  like  the  banner  upon  a  forsaken 
citadel. 

Gustave  had  traced  Gabrielle  to  America,  and 
had  thither  come  in  search  of  her;  but  in  the  city 
of  New  York  —  that  great  receiver  of  unlawful 
foreign  merchandise — the  clew  was  lost.  Obtain 
ing  a  place  in  the  orchestra  of  a  reputable  so- 


166  THE  SHATTERED    VIOLIN 

ciety,  he  had  fallen  into  the  groove  of  a  solitary 
and  unfriended  life.  Among  the  few  who  noticed 
him  at  all  Gustave  passed  for  an  honest  but  toque 
old  artist,  whose  harmless  mania  was  the  worship 
of  his  own  violin. 

One  Friday  afternoon  of  a  bleak  December  day, 
at  the  close  of  the  Philharmonic  rehearsal,  Gus 
tave  passed  out  of  Fourteenth  Street  into  Broad 
way,  where,  sauntering  aimlessly  down  the  sunny 
side  of  the  block,  he  saw  a  lady  descend  from  a 
carriage  in  front  of  a  fashionable  shop.  He  did 
not  recognize  the  costly  wrapping  of  seal-skin,  half 
shrouding  a  slender  form,  or  yet  the  air  of  languid 
luxury.  But  whose  was  that  beautiful  veiled  face, 
that  tress  of  escaping  golden  hair,  if  not  his  Ga- 
brielle's  ?  Gasping  for  breath,  Gustave  held  his 
violin  against  his  breast  and  waited.  When  she 
came  out  of  the  shop  on  her  way  to  the  carriage 
he  intercepted  her.  Without  a  glance,  she  waved 
him  impatiently  aside. 

"  Gabrielle  !"  cried  Thorez,  with  all  his  broken 
heart  in  that  single  word. 

The  girl  started,  looked  him  in  the  face,  and 
caught  her  breath. 

"  You  are  mistaken,  my  good  man,  or  mad.  Do 
you  want  charity  ?  or  shall  I  have  to  ask  the  aid  of 
a  policeman  to  protect  me  to  my  carriage  ?" 

"  Gabrielle  !"  the  old  man  said  again,  falling  back 
as  if  he  had  been  shot. 

At  this  juncture  an  interposing  policeman  took 
Gustave  in  charge,  and,  without  elaborate  inquiry, 


THE   SHATTERED   VIOLIN  167 

consigned  him,  with  his  violin,  to  a  night's  lodging 
in  the  station-house. 

From  that  night  of  despair  dated  the  downfall  of 
his  self-respect.  His  habits,  before  decent,  lapsed 
from  bad  to  worse  and  worst.  Losing  his  standing 
with  musical  societies  of  the  higher  rank,  Gustave 
still  did  not  find  it  hard  to  earn  a  livelihood.  Upon 
the  first  occasion  when  he  was  engaged  to  play  for 
dancing  at  a  second-rate  ball,  Gustave  fiddled  like 
a  madman  through  the  night,  then  went  home  to 
shed  tears  upon  his  desecrated  violin.  After  work 
in  the  orchestras  of  petty  theatres  came  music 
halls,  then  lower  drinking  dens.  When  once  the  old 
musician  came  out  of  one  of  these  haunts  to  slink 
homeward  in  the  gray  of  morning,  he  fell  upon  the 
icy  sidewalk,  and  in  trying  to  save  his  violin  re 
ceived  a  severe  concussion  of  the  brain. 

Getting  up  from  his  cot  at  Bellevue  Hospital, 
after  many  days  of  prostration,  something  of  Gus- 
tave's  better  nature  came  back  to  him.  The  nurses 
in  his  ward,  finding  the  old  fellow  expert  and  bid- 
able,  made  quite  a  pet  of  him ;  and  eagerly  peck 
ing  at  the  crumb  of  a  kind  word  or  a  look  of  sym 
pathy,  Gustave,  during  his  convalescence,  began 
hopping  about  in  the  sunshine  of  human  warmth 
like  a  reviving  sparrow. 

One  day  in  March,  when  the  winds  were  work 
ing  havoc  with  flues  and  chimney  draughts,  the 
nurse  of  a  woman's  pavilion  ward  called  old  Gus 
tave  in  to  try  his  skill  upon  a  refractory  stove 
pipe  in  her  department. 


1 68  THE   SHATTERED   VIOLIN 

Close  by  where  he  was  set  to  work  a  screen  sur 
rounded  one  of  the  beds,  and  a  litter  stationed  there 
told  too  plainly  that  the  "feet  of  the  dead"  were 
about  to  be  carried  out. 

"  Here,  Thorez,  lend  a  hand,  will  you  ?"  said  his 
friend  the  nurse,  coming  from  behind  the  screen. 
"  We're  short  of  'elp  this  morning,  and  I'm  in  a 
'urry  to  get  this  poor  creature  out  of  the  ward  at 
once.  I'm  all  hupset  with  the  night  she's  given 
me,  and  I  can  truly  say  a  more  pitifuller  case 
never  fell  hunder  my  hobservation  at  'ome  or  'ere. 
Since  she  took  the  bad  turn  yesterday  she's  done 
nothink  but  jabber  French  and  call '  Papa  !  papa  !' 
She  ain't  got  a  friend  on  hearth  that  hever  I  see, 
and  she  such  a  reg'lar  beauty!  Heart-disease  it 
was,  and  shame  and  misery,  that  did  the  work. 
Hit's  all  ready  now ;  you  take  the  feet,  will  you  ?" 

Gustave  obeyed,,  and  mechanically  did  the  work 
assigned  to  him.  As  the  men  carried  their  covered 
burden  out  of  the  pavilion  through  the  open  yard 
a  gust  of  wind,  blowing  suddenly  across  the  river, 
lifted  the  sheet  from  the  shrouded  form. 

Then  Gustave  saw  again  the  face  of  Gabrielle ! 

When  dismissed  from  the  hospital,  he  wandered 
back  to  his  old  lodging,  where  for  charity's  sake 
the  people  gave  him  shelter  for  a  night,  until  nearly 
morning  he  leaned  in  a  stupor  over  the  table,  rest 
ing  his  cheek  upon  the  violin. 

Just  before  dawn  he  lifted  the  instrument  and 
tried  to  play.  It  was  a  faint  and  tuneless  echo  of 


THE  SHATTERED   VIOLIN  169 

the  theme  from  Bach  which  Joachim  had  rendered 
at  the  concert  of  the  Athene'e. 

Gustave  dropped  his  bow  and,  seizing  a  fire-iron 
from  the  hearth,  struck  with  all  his  force  upon  the 
violin,  setting  free  forever  the  sweet  spirit  it  en 
shrined. 

When,  a  few  days  after,  the  rushing  river  yielded 
up  her  dead,  the  body  of  Gustave  Thorez  was 
washed  in  upon  the  Fort  Hamilton  shore. 

Upon  a  high  shelf  in  the  cupboard  of  his  room, 
beside  the  wreck  of  an  old  French  opera  hat  mak 
ing  a  dusty  and  feeble  assertion  of  remote  respect 
ability,  some  people  of  the  house  found  the  shat 
tered  remnant  of  the  dead  musician's  violin  in 
which  a  mouse  was  rearing  up  her  brood. 


A  HOUSE   BUILT  UPON   THE  SAND 


A  HOUSE   BUILT  UPON  THE   SAND 


A  WEDDING-PARTY  was  about  to  issue  from  the 
wide-open  portals  of  a  brownstone  house  in  upper 
Fifth  Avenue.  As  usual,  a  little  crowd  of  curious 
street  loungers  had  gathered  around  the  awning  to 
see  the  hackneyed  yet  ever-interesting  ceremony  of 
rice-throwing,  together  with  the  reckless  launching 
into  space  of  high-heeled  slippers. 

Simultaneously  the  inner  vestibule  doors  of  the 
besieged  mansion  were  thrown  open.  From  an  or 
chestra  hidden  by  a  screen  of  palms  in  the  marble 
hall  came  the  strains  of  an  inspiring  march.  A 
swarm  of  white-robed  maidens  and  attendant  men 
rilled  the  entrance-way,  leaving  a  narrow  passage, 
down  which  came  a  page,  youthful  and  smirking, 
conscious  of  many  buttons,  having  in  tow  a  fussy 
Frenchwoman  of  uncertain  age,  who  made  great 
show  of  a  large  alligator-skin  dressing-case  elabo 
rately  mounted  in  silver.  A  cab  drawn  up  first  in 
the  line  of  carriages  before  the  door  received  these 
ornaments  to  society,  but  not  before  they  had  been 
plentifully  greeted  with  curbstone  wit,  affecting  to 
mistake  them  for  the  newly-married  pair.  Next 


174  A   HOUSE  BUILT   UPON   THE  SAND 

came  the  father,  a  slender,  middle-sized,  care-worn 
man,  between  fifty  and  sixty  in  appearance,  but, 
in  fact,  some  ten  years  younger.  After  him,  walk 
ing  alone  with  superb  independence,  smiling,  an 
swering  the  farewells  showered  upon  her,  leisurely, 
giving  her  friends  ample  time  to  survey  all  the 
details  of  her  dress  of  brown  velvet  and  sable  fur, 
came  the  bride.  She  bade  good-bye  to  her  family 
with  composure,  and  laughed  at  the  showers  of 
rice  falling  around  them  as  she  and  the  young 
man  following  her  descended  the  steps,  to  where 
her  father  was  already  waiting  at  the  carriage  door. 
"  There,  that's  over,  thank  goodness ! "  she  said 
when  seated  by  her  husband,  who  occupied  himself 
in  drawing  a  rug  about  her  knees.  "  Good  -bye, 
papa ;  I  hope  you  charged  Marie  about  the  dress 
ing-case,  not  to  let  it  go  out  of  her  hands  for  a 
minute.  I  put  Aunt  Hope's  diamond  star  in  there 
at  the  last  moment.  Who  would  have  believed  that 
the  old  lady  was  good  for  diamonds  ?  I  had  made 
up  my  mind  to  nothing  but  a  book-rack  or  a  paltry 
little  toilet  set.  I'm  so  thankful  she  settled  on  that 
old  case  of  grandmamma's  books  as  Grace's  wed 
ding  present  and  not  mine.  I  wish,  papa,  that 
mamma  would  see  all  my  things  are  properly 
packed  at  once  to-morrow,  and  put  away  till  we 
come  back.  I  can't  bear  to  think  of  their  being 
fingered  by  curious  people.  Yes,  we  will  write  from 
Washington  or  Richmond.  There,  we  are  off,  I 
suppose.  Good-bye  !  Good-bye  !  I  trust,  Dick,  we 
mayn't  be  starved  travelling  in  that  horrid  south- 


A   HOUSE    BUILT   UPON   THE  SAND  175 

ern  country.  But  think  of  Grace  and  her  cheap  lit 
tle  bridal  trip  to  visit  Ned's  relations  in  that  old 
fogy  village  in  Connecticut!  I  should  think  she 
would  have  more  self-respect  than  to  let  such  a 
thing  get  abroad  about  her.  Dick,  I  do  hope  you 
saw  Marsden's  face  during  the  ceremony.  I  stole 
a  glance  at  him,  for  I  wouldn't  have  missed  it.  He 
looked  so  dreadfully  cross  and  blue  —  ha!  ha!  ha! 
Just  as  he  always  looked  when  he  was  following 
me  around  and  I  danced  or  talked  with  other  men." 

As  the  carnage  drove  rapidly  down  the  long  ave 
nue  Ellinor  settled  back  with  an  air  of  perfect  con 
tentment. 

"  We  certainly  ought  to  be  satisfied,"  she  said, 
in  a  business-like  way.  "  The  thing  has  been  done 
in  style  !  Papa  has  been  preaching  so  about  econ 
omy  of  late  that  I'd  no  idea  he  meant  to  give  us 
such  a  send-off." 

Richard  started.  He  had,  strangely  enough  for 
a  bridegroom  who  had  just  succeeded  in  carrying 
off  the  belle  of  her  "  set "  and  season,  lapsed  into 
a  meditation  of  a  somewhat  rueful  character.  He 
was  very  much  in  love  with  Ellinor,  but  the  parting 
with  his  newly  acquired  father-in-law  had  not  been 
as  pecuniarily  reassuring  as  he  could  have  hoped. 
Nothing  had  been  said  of  the  future  arrangements 
of  the  young  couple  beyond  a  vague  "  Hope  we 
shall  see  you  both  back  for  a  visit  at  New -Year, 
my  boy."  A  check  for  $1000  had  been  duly  pre 
sented  (and  as  duly,  we  may  be  sure,  chronicled 
by  the  reporters  for  the  fashionable  news  columns) 


176  A   HOUSE   BUILT  UPON   THE  SAND 

to  the  bride  by  her  father,  together  with  as  fine  a 
silver  tea  set  as  Tiffany  could  furnish,  and  an 
elaborate  trousseau.  (The  wedding  outfit  of  this 
republican  belle  had  been  modelled  in  Paris  after 
that  of  a  young  foreign  princess  just  then  entering 
the  bonds  of  matrimony  with  an  English  prince.) 
The  flowers  serving  to  deck  the  house  for  the  cer 
emony  would  have  paid  the  house  rent  of  the  young 
couple  for  a  year.  The  collation,  the  music,  the 
dresses,  were  as  costly  as  is  usual  on  such  occa 
sions  in  New  York.  The  new  Mrs.  Eliot  also  left 
behind  her  in  a  special  casket — Aunt  Hope's  star, 
as  we  know,  was  allotted  to  Marie's  care  —  cres 
cents,  bars,  drops,  and  pendants  of  diamonds,  to 
gether  with  a  dozen  yards  of  lace  fragile  as  a  spi 
der's  web,  but  much  more  convertible  into  cash.  In 
the  "  spare  room "  of  the  paternal  mansion  were 
heaps  upon  heaps  of  bric-a-brac,  from  Venetian 
glass  to  painted  gauze  fire-screens,  the  customary 
offerings  to  an  expectant  house-keeper.  In  the  cab 
preceding  our  young  couple  was  an  expensive,  ill- 
humored,  but  correct  appendage  in  the  shape  of  a 
French  maid.  What  more  could  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Richard  Eliot  ask  of  Fortune  at  the  outset  of  their 
career?  Richard,  it  may  be  parenthetically  re 
marked,  was  in  receipt  of  a  modest  but  uncertain 
income  from  the  junior  partnership  of  a  firm  re 
cently  entering  business  on  their  own  account. 

Before  the  crowd  around  Mr.  Talbot's  doorway 
had  time  to  disperse,  to  their  surprise,  the  large 
front  doors  again  swung  back  upon  their  massive 


A   HOUSE   BUILT  UPON   THE   SAND  177 

hinges,  and  another  bridal  train  appeared  within. 
This  time  the  bride  was  smaller,  slighter,  less  as 
sured.  She  clung  to  her  father's  arm,  and  her  hus 
band,  a  stalwart  open-faced  young  fellow,  shook 
hands  right  and  left  as  he  passed  down  the  line. 
Instead  of  music  from  the  orchestra,  the  cheery 
roar  of  a  college  song  was  started  and  taken  up 
with  good -will  by  the  company.  And  just  as  the 
fair  young  bride  turned  for  a  moment  to  wave  her 
acknowledgment  from  the  threshold  a  small,  elab 
orately  dressed  child  ran  out  from  the  group,  and 
clung,  weeping,  to  her  neck. 

"  Oh,  Grade,  Gracie !  what  shall  we  do  without 
you  ?" 

The  little  girl  was  comforted  and  caressed,  and 
Grace  turned  again  to  her  husband ;  but  her  path 
was  beset  by  servants  and  old  family  retainers,  who 
kissed  and  showered  blessings  on  their  "  sweet 
young  lady."  When,  amid  a  rain  of  flowers  and 
rice  and  slippers,  the  second  bride  had  reached  her 
carriage,  she  was  observed  to  turn  and  throw  her 
self  impulsively  upon  her  father's  breast,  whisper 
ing  in  his  ear,  manifestly  to  the  surprise  of  his  deco 
rum  and  his  shirt  collar.  What  she  said — this  poor, 
unconventional  little  Grace  —  was,  "Bless  me,  oh, 
my  father !" — and  the  man  of  business,  swallowing 
a  decided  lump  in  his  throat,  kissed  her  again,  brush 
ing  the  tears  from  his  eyes  as  he  muttered  a  few  un 
wonted  words  of  benediction  above  her  sunny  head. 

No  maid  or  lackey  accompanied  this  couple, 
and  their  surroundings  were  so  unobtrusive  that 


178  A  HOUSE   BUILT  UPON  THE  SAND 

the  crowd  upon  the  sidewalk  gave  vent  to  audible 
remonstrance  at  what  in  their  judgment  seemed  an 
unequal  distribution  of  parental  favors. 

An  hour  later  all  the  guests  had  gone;  waiters 
ran  to  and  fro  with  piles  of  used  plates,  and  sol 
aced  themselves  at  intervals  with  hidden  bottles 
of  champagne.  The  musicians  were  packing  up 
their  instruments  in  green -baize  bags;  the  little 
male  and  female  Talbots  were  skirmishing  on  the 
stairs,  unwilling  to  succumb  to  bedtime  and  to  nur 
sery  authority.  A  few  remote  relations,  members 
of  the  family  unearthed  for  weddings  and  funer 
als,  were  seen  wandering  around  the  house,  peer 
ing  into  shut  rooms,  and  handling  with  itching 
fingers  the  wedding  presents,  over  which  a  Gorgon- 
like  maid  kept  guard.  An  elderly  cousin  in  black 
silk,  festooned  with  an  antique  shawl  of  llama  lace, 
was  discovered — no  one  knows  how  she  got  there 
— in  the  butler's  pantry  ogling  an  untouched  Stras- 
burg  pie,  while  a  pocket-handkerchief  full  of  grapes, 
cakes,  and  mottoes  lay  suspiciously  near  at  hand. 
Another  spinster  made  it  her  business  to  go  around 
among  the  wax  candles,  snuffing  them  out  with 
commendable  economy.  In  the  large  drawing- 
room  Mrs.  Talbot  herself,  looking  the  picture  of 
fatigue  and  woe  in  her  trailing  satin  and  Venetian 
lace,  had  dropped  into  a  crimson  satin  chair,  the 
two  school-girl  daughters  on  either  side  of  her  lost 
in  happy  dreams  of  future  possibilities  of  their  own. 
In  a  carved  chair  at  the  fireside  corner,  erect  and 
placid,  Aunt  Hope,  a  shrewd  -  looking  widow,  sat 


A   HOUSE  BUILT    UPON   THE  SAND  179 

at  her  knitting.  Everywhere  were  drooping  flow 
ers,  furniture  pushed  into  unwonted  corners,  the 
general  air  of  discomfort  after  the  feast  that  en 
tertainers  know  so  well.  Poor  Mr.  Talbot  wan 
dered  about,  getting  in  everybody's  way,  snubbed 
by  the  hired  waiters,  who  failed  to  identify  him  as 
the  proprietor,  restless  and  dispirited. 

"  As  it  is  now  half-past  seven,  and  there  seems 
no  reasonable  prospect  of  dinner  here,  Maria,"  he 
said  at  last,  after  assisting  the  butler  forcibly  to 
eject  an  intoxicated  hireling  who  was  found  sitting 
with  his  head  in  a  punch -bowl  amid  a  wreck  of 
broken  glass.  "  I  think  I'll  go  down  to  the  club  and 
get  a  chop  and  a  bottle  of  claret." 

"  No,  indeed,  John ;  you  must  wait  for  us. 
There'll  be  something  presently.  Sit  down  ..here 
with  Aunt  Hope  and  me.  The  girls  have  gone  to 
a  '  rose-bud '  dinner  at  the  Mays',  though  I  can't 
say  I  approved  of  it,  before  they  are  even  *  out !' 
But  they  were  so  set  I  just  gave  them  leave  for  the 
sake  of  peace.  Heigho  !  our  two  oldest  gone, 
there'll  be  these  two  to  launch  next  winter,  John, 
and  a  coming-out  ball  of  course.  How  lucky  that 
one  can  give  such  things  at  Delmonico's  !" 

"  I  wish  you'd  please  to  take  another  time  than 
this,  Maria,  to  talk  about  your  Delmonico  balls  and 
fallals.  Wait  till  these  bills  are  paid,  and  see  what 
they  amount  to.  And  what  with  George  at  college, 
and  Tom  at  Dr.  Blank's,  and  those  two  little  chaps 
in  the  nursery,  it's  nothing  but  pay,  pay,  from  morn 
ing  to  night." 


l8o  A   HOUSE   BUILT  UPON   THE   SAND 

"  Well,  John,  I  think  you  are  very  ungrateful,  for 
a  fine  family  like  ours,  to  begrudge  giving  them  all 
the  young  people  they  associate  with  expect,"  said 
Mrs.  Talbot,  tired  and  ungrammatical.  "  Just  as 
our  two  poor  girls  are  married  and  gone,  too." 

"  Wait  till  John  has  had  his  dinner  and  he  will 
sing  a  different  song,"  said  Aunt  Hope,  cheerily  ; 
and  dinner  being  just  then  announced,  John  did 
brighten  up  as  was  predicted. 

But  not  for  long.  Aunt  Hope,  who  rarely  left 
her  country  home  to  visit  her  city  relatives,  was 
struck  with  the  jaded  look  her  prosperous  nephew's 
face  had  assumed  of  late  years.  His  once  active 
step  has  begun  to  lag,  and  an  unwonted  peevish 
ness  had  taken  the  place  of  his  light  spirit  of  yore. 

"  And  what  will  Ellinor  do  on  her  return  ?"  Aunt 
Hope  asked,  when  they  were  again  talking  over 
affairs.  "What  a  queenly  creature  she  was,  to  be 
sure,  under  her  veil !" 

"  What  does  everybody  do  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Talbot, 
complacently.  "  They  will  probably  not  want  to 
go  to  house-keeping  at  once,  since  Ellinor  will  be 
overrun  with  engagements,  and  I  have  advised  Mr. 
Eliot  to  take  rooms  at  the  Hotel  Guelph,  where 
their  meals  are  served,  don't  you  know,  and  Elli 
nor  will  have  no  cares,  no  responsibilities.  Of 
course  we  will  furnish  the  rooms,  and  I  am  to  go 
to-morrow  to  meet  Palette.  He  has  such  taste, 
you  know;  and  with  all  Ellinor's  presents  their 
rooms  will  be  a  dream  !  The  only  thing  to  really 
worry  over  is  that  poor  Ellinor  will  keep  no  car- 


A   HOUSE   BUILT   UPON  THE  SAND  l8l 

riage  at  first.  Mr.  Eliot  was  quite  positive  about 
that,  much  to  my  surprise.  Luckily  I  can  call  for 
her  for  visits,  and  they  can  have  cabs  for  going  out 
to  dinner.  I  think  it  is  the  most  delightful  ar 
rangement — this  living  at  the  Guelph.  Just  fancy! 
Ellinor  will  have  absolutely  nothing  to  do  but  to 
amuse  herself." 

"  I  had  rather  not  think  of  it,  Maria,"  Aunt  Hope 
said,  with  unusual  gravity,  which  was  quite  lost 
upon  Mrs.  Talbot. 

"  Of  course,  with  Ellinor's  looks,  we  had  a  right 
to  expect  everything  in  her  marriage,  dear  girl ;  but 
she  was  absolutely  infatuated  with  this  young  man, 
and,  to  be  sure,  he  has  always  held  the  best  place 
in  society — invited  everywhere — and  dances  to  per 
fection.  His  ideas  and  tastes  are  just  like  Elli 
nor's,  and  he  has  been  lavish  in  flowers  during  the 
engagement.  He  is  never  seen  anywhere  except 

with  men  from  the and  the clubs,  which 

with  Ellinor  is  everything.  She  is  so  fastidious.  I 
only  wish  he  were  a  little  more  independent  in  his 
circumstances  ;  but  of  course  John  will  arrange  all 
that." 

"  Of  course  John  will  do  nothing  of  the  kind," 
said  Mr.  Talbot,  with  apparent  effort.  "  We  might 
as  well  understand  each  other,  Maria,  about  this 
matter.  You  know  whether  I  have  held  back  any 
of  the  money  I  have  worked  so  hard  for  all  these 
years.  You  and  the  children  have  had  it,  every 
bit.  I  have  written  a  letter  for  Ellinor,  which  her 
maid  will  give  to  her,  telling  her  that  I  will  con- 


182  A   HOUSE  BUILT    UPON    THE  SAND 

tinue  the  allowance  she  has  had  to  dress  upon  here 
tofore.  Anything  more  is  literally  impossible  in 
the  present  state  of  my  affairs,  either  for  Gracie  or 
herself." 

"  Gracie,"  said  Mrs.  Talbot,  trying  to  conceal  the 
blankness  of  her  countenance.  "  That  girl  is  a 
perfect  enigma.  Not  content  with  saving  at  least 
two-thirds  of  the  money  her  father  gave  them  both 
for  their  trousseaux,  and  buying  herself  an  outfit 
like  a  Quaker's,  she  has  actually  persuaded  Edward 
that  it  is  better  for  them  to  begin  house-keeping 
at  once.  They  have  been  off  together  (luckily  it  is 
in  a  quarter  where  nobody  goes),  and  they  have 
hunted  up  a  two-story  house  with  a  box-garret — the 
most  dingy,  absurd  little  mouse-trap  you  ever  saw 

— on  the  east  side  of  the  town,  in Place.     I 

believe  it  was  occupied  by  a  dress-maker  last.  The 
worst  of  it  is,  they  have  actually  taken  it,  and  have 
set  the  painters  and  paper-hangers  to  work  there. 
Of  course  I  did  everything  I  could  to  talk  Grace 
into  an  apartment.  Everybody  goes  into  apart 
ments  now,  and  you  may  be  as  poor  as  you  please 
in  one  of  them,  and  still  keep  up  appearances. 
But  Grace  says  that  Edward  is  too  big  for  any 
apartment  she  has  yet  seen,  and  far  too  noisy. 
And  Edward  says  he  wants  four  walls  and  a  front 
door-step  all  to  himself.  He  is  as  obstinate  as  a 
mule,  it  is  plain  to  see,  and  I  pity  poor  Grace  when 
the  honey-moon  is  over.  What  will  become  of  her 
music — for  she  certainly  has  a  lovely  voice,  and 
has  had  every  advantage  in  masters — and  her  Ian- 


A   HOUSE   BUILT   UPON  THE  SAND  183 

guages,  and  all,  tucked  away  in  that  hole,  with  that 
kind  of  a  set,  selfish  man  for  a  companion  ?  Just 
imagine  what  a  house  it  must  be  when  I  tell  you 
that  they  got  it  on  a  lease  for  eight  hundred  dollars 
a  year !" 

"  I  remember,  Maria,"  said  John  Talbot,  gently, 
"  when  we  first  came  here  from  the  country,  and  I 
was  a  clerk  on  a  small  salary,  that  we  lived  in  one 
room  of  a  boarding-house,  and  had  to  be  content. 
Aunt  Hope,  I  see  you  taking  all  this  in  in  your  quiet 
way,  and  I  know  it  astonishes  you.  That  a  mother 
should  reproach  her  child  for  trying  to  live  within 
her  husband's  means,  I  confess,  astonishes  even 
me." 

"  Now,  John,  when  you  try  to  be  satirical  I  al 
ways  stop,"  said  his  wife,  comfortably.  "  Haven't 
you,  I'd  like  to  know,  always  paid  every  bill  with 
out  inquiring  into  it,  and  given  the  children  every 
advantage  without  counting  the  cost  ?" 

"  Aye,  God  help  me,  so  I  have  !"  said  John  Tal 
bot,  getting  up  abruptly  to  leave  the  room.  "  With 
out  counting  the  cost." 

"  John  is  like  that  sometimes,"  said  his  wife. 
"  Don't  mind  him,  Aunt  Hope  ;  he  is  really  the 
most  indulgent  creature  living.  A  true  American 
father,  some  one  called  him,  who  met  us  at  Nice 
last  year.  What  puzzles  me  is  this  holding  back 
about  increasing  Ellinor's  allowance.  Of  course  he 
must  be  talked  into  it.  A  girl  of  Ellinor's  tastes, 
indeed  !  Ellinor  must  have  money." 

During  a  mild  week  in  May,  about  six  months 


184  A    HOUSE   BUILT   UPON  THE  SAND 

after  the  double  wedding,  Aunt  Hope  was  again  in 
town.  She  had  called  once  or  twice  at  the  Hotel 
Guelph  before  gaining  admission.  The  man  in 
waiting  at  the  entrance  door  took  her  card,  glanced 
superciliously  at  her  poke-bonnet,  "guessed"  that 
the  madam  was  not  receiving,  and  after  a  long  de 
lay  came  back  with  the  information  that  Mrs.  Eliot, 
at  2  P.M.,  had  not  yet  left  her  room.  At  last  Aunt 
Hope  received  permission  to  ascend  to  her  niece's 
quarters,  and  being  enclosed  in  an  elevator,  was 
carried  to  the  sixth  story  of  a  sumptuous  apart 
ment-house.  A  boy  in  buttons  answered  her  touch 
upon  the  electric  knob,  and  conducted  her  through 
a  long  dark  passage-way  into  Mrs.  Eliot's  presence. 

Ellinor  was  lying  on  a  couch  in  a  small  room 
littered  with  bric-a-brac,  and  crowded  with  furs, 
heavy  draperies,  and  costly  rugs.  What  light  there 
was  came  through  thin  curtains  of  amber  silk  hung 
beneath  screens  of  multicolored  glass.  A  wood- 
fire  was  blazing  on  the  hearth,  and  the  air  was  per 
fumed  to  suffocation  with  the  odor  of  roses  and 
hyacinths,  crowded  in  vases  upon  every  shelf  and 
bracket.  A  small  stand  of  gilt  wicker  at  Ellinor's 
side  contained  boxes  of  bonbons,  fresh  heliotrope 
massed  in  a  yellow  jar,  the  morning  papers,  and  a 
couple  of  French  novels.  Amid  this  luxury  the 
young  wife  lay  in  an  attitude  of  utter  listlessness, 
her  robe  of  white  India  silk  half  hidden  by  a  cover 
ing  of  gold-embroidered  Oriental  stuff  thrown  across 
her  couch. 

"  Humph  !"  said  Aunt  Hope,  sitting  bolt-upright 


A   HOUSE   BUILT    UPON  THE   SAND  185 

on  the  edge  of  the  first  chair  she  could  find.  I 
supposed  I  had  got  by  mistake  into  the  room  of 
some  tragedy  queen.  What  would  your  grand 
mother  Talbot  have  said  to  this,  I  wonder  ? — she 
who  was  up  by  candlelight  winter  and  summer, 
sweeping,  dusting,  cooking,  mending,  to  make  both 
ends  meet,  and  to  give  your  father  and  the  others 
what  education  she  could  afford  !  Seems  to  me, 
child,  the  size  of  your  rooms  isn't  in  keeping  with 
your  finery.  Of  course,  with  a  limited  income,  you 
have  to  live  high  up,  that  should  be  no  reproach  to 
you." 

"  I  wonder  if  you  know  what  we  pay  for  this 
apartment,"  Ellinor  said,  sharply,  naming  a  sum 
that  made  the  old  lady's  spectacles  fly  off  in  her 
excitement. 

That  Aunt  Hope  had  much  to  learn,  she  dis 
covered  in  the  course  of  this  memorable  visit.  She 
found  in  her  niece  a  type  of  an  increasing  class, 
descendants  of  the  thrifty  New  York  merchants  of 
a  generation  back — cradled  in  luxury,  and  yield 
ing  to  no  hereditary  nobles  the  right  to  surpass 
them  in  personal  indulgence  of  lavish  tastes. 
On  every  side  in  the  circle  of  Ellinor's  contem 
poraries  might  be  seen  the  same  push  and  struggle 
for  supremacy  in  the  world  of  fashion — a  world 
of  self-constituted  aristocracy,  whereof  the  puppets 
representing  men  and  women  danced  to  the  far 
away  pipings  of  a  social  leadership  they  affected 
to  despise,  creating,  in  a  word,  a  London  at  second 
hand.  In  such  hands  the  vigor  of  the  American 


l86  A  HOUSE  BUILT  UPON  THE  SAND 

republic  is  swathed  in  eider-down  and  stifled  in 
attar  of  rose.  No  wonder  that  a  shrewd  old  wom 
an  like  Aunt  Hope,  whose  eyes  had  been  wide  open 
to  the  interests  of  her  fellows  these  sixty  years 
past,  should  pause  aghast  at  the  spectacle !  A 
brief  interview  with  her  niece  revealed  far  more 
than  Ellinor  meant  to  show.  Already  the  husband 
and  wife  had  begun  to  drift  apart,  both  finding  in 
the  narrow  limit  of  home  companionship  meagre 
food  for  their  restless  spirits.  Night  after  night 
Ellinor  went  into  the  world,  day  after  day  lounged 
upon  her  sofa  until  the  hour  arrived  for  some  fresh 
gayety.  The  discovery  that,  for  the  first  time  in 
her  life,  money  to  lavish  on  her  own  amusements 
was  not  forthcoming  was  resented  as  a  personal 
affront  put  on  her  by  father  and  husband  both. 
On  his  side  Eliot,  a  good-natured  and  well-mean 
ing  young  fellow  in  the  main,  waked  up  with  dis 
may  to  the  reality  of  his  married  life.  Instead  of 
a  helpmeet  he  had  a  princess  on  his  hands.  Little 
by  little  dreams  of  domestic  happiness  took  wing. 
His  pecuniary  responsibilities  overwhelmed  him. 
In  despair,  he  went  back  to  the  old  society  life  for 
solace. 

"Whose  fault  is  this?"  Aunt  Hope  asked  her 
self,  sternly,  pinning  her  little  gray  shawl  to  go 
down  the  stairs,  heart-sick  and  despondent  of  bet 
ter  things.  Second  thoughts  induced  her  to  turn 
her  steps  in  the  direction  of  the  remote  locality 
where  Grace  Fielding  had  made  her  home. 

The  small  brick  house  in  unfashionable  


A   HOUSE  BUILT   UPON  THE   SAND  187 

Place  was  blushing  in  a  fresh  coat  of  paint,  and 
the  brass  dragon  knocker  on  the  dark  green  door 
shone  resplendently.  A  tiny  grass-plat  was  filled 
with  tulips,  hyacinths,  and  wall -flowers.  From 
the  open  windows  of  the  parlor  Grace's  voice 
was  heard  singing  at  her  piano.  A  hand-maiden 
whose  smile  assumed  personal  interest  in  the 
caller  ushered  Aunt  Hope  into  the  presence  of 
her  niece.  Grace  greeted  her  aunt  joyfully,  and 
forthwith  began  the  eager  exhibition  of  a  young 
wife's  first  belongings. 

"  No,  dear  auntie,  you  can't  sit  down  until  you 
have  admired  our  skill  in  making  sixteen  feet  square 
do  the  work  of  twenty.  No  crowding  either ;  we 
are  proud  of  that,"  she  said,  in  her  rapid,  girlish 
way.  "  With  the  bookcases,  which,  thanks  to  your 
blessed  wedding  present  and  Ned's  college  library, 
we  have  filled,  we  defy  criticism  as  to  the  decora 
tion  of  our  walls.  Those  engravings  and  photo 
gravures  and  the  little  Florentine  mirror  look  well, 
don't  they,  against  the  Pompeiian  red,  though  'tis 
only  *  water  wash  ?'  The  tops  of  the  shelves,  you 
see,  have  served  to  accommodate  the  best  of  our 
wedding  'loot/  as  Ned  calls  it;  but  the  china  or 
naments  have  by  his  stem  decree  gone  into  one 
especial  press  in  the  dining-room.  We  are  rich 
in  lamps  and  candelabra,  of  course,  and  the  horrid 
little  chandelier  was  banished  altogether  from  this 
room.  A  committee  of  two  or  three  of  Ned's  art 
ist  friends  came  here  and  'sat'  upon  our  affairs 
while  we  were  furnishing,  so  we  flatter  ourselves 


188  A  HOUSE   BUILT   UPON   THE  SAND 

that  the  tone  of  everything  is  eminently  correct. 
That  portiere  was  an  extravagance,  but — don't  tell 
— we  exchanged  a  hideous  rug  for  it  that  somebody 
bestowed  on  us.  Now  for  the  dining-room.  Isn't 
it  a  pretty  spot  ?" 

Here,  instead  of  the  traditional  gloom  of  the 
modern  eating-room,  were  light,  color,  fragrance. 
Two  little  windows  had  been  knocked  out  to  be 
replaced  by  an  ample  bow,  large  enough,  when  re 
quired,  to  contain  a  tete-a-tete  breakfast  table. 
The  furniture,  of  the  slender -legged  mahogany 
variety,  glittered  brilliantly  in  a  bath  of  morning 
sunlight.  Glass,  brass,  silver,  and  procelain  caught 
up  and  repeated  the  sparkling  effect.  Two  or  three 
jars  of  blue  Delft  held  vigorous  young  palms.  A 
bowl  of  yellow  tulips  ornamented  the  centre  of  the 
table,  and  around  the  little  plot  of  ground  behind 
the  house  wistaria,  ivy,  and  honeysuckle  made  a 
wall  of  green  to  enclose  a  grass-plat  with  its  central 
flower  bed. 

"  The  wonder  of  it  is,  we  are,  in  our  modest  way, 
a  social  success,"  Grace  went  on.  "  All  my  friends 
among  the  girls  followed  me  here,  and  once  a  week 
I  have  afternoon  tea,  and  so  many  pleasant  people 
drop  in.  Now  and  again  a  carriage  rolls  into  the 
street  that  brings  all  our  neighbors  to  the  window; 
but  many  of  mamma's  friends  have  contented  them 
selves  with  sending  cards  through  the  post.  The 
visits  of  mere  form  will  soon  stop,  and  then  Ned 
and  I  will  settle  down  to  making  our  own  "set,"  if 
we  are  to  have  such  a  thing.  Think  of  papa  com- 


A   HOUSE  BUILT   UPON   THE   SAND  189 

ing,  aunty ! — papa,  who  never  goes  anywhere  but 
to  the  office  and  the  club.  Sometimes  he  and  the 
children  have  their  Sunday  dinner  here,  and  we 
have  great  fun.  Ned  and  papa  are  such  friends ! 
But  then  everybody  is  friends  with  Ned,  Aunt 
Hope.  We  see  less  of  mamma,  because  she  is 
really  very  busy  going  out  with  Ellinor,  and  then 
she  doesn't  like  to  bring  the  horses  to  the  east  side 
of  town." 

They  had  luncheon,  served  by  the  smiling  Phyllis 
upon  flowery  china,  and  afterwards  Aunt  Hope  fell 
to  sentimentalizing  in  Grace's  aesthetic  three-cor 
nered  chair  by  the  open  bow. 

"  There  is  nothing  like  the  spring-tide  of  married 
life,"  the  old  woman  mused.  "  How  beautiful  is 
this  fulness  of  faith  in  the  object  beloved — this 
persistent  happiness  owning  no  alloy !  Bless  me, 
child,  I  am  doting  !  Give  me  a  cup  of  tea,  and 
then  you  may — as  I  see  you  are  dying  to  do  — 
talk  about  Ned's  virtues  till  one  or  the  other  of 
us  drops  through  sheer  fatigue,  and  I  know  which 
one  of  us  that  will  not  be." 

Grace  needed  no  further  invitation.  She  sat 
down  on  a  cushion  at  her  aunt's  knee ;  but  before 
the  confidence  had  gone  far  it  was  interrupted  by  a 
loud  knock,  followed  by  the  appearance  upon  the 
scene  of  John  Talbot,  looking  pale  and  worn. 

"Papa,"  cried  Grace,  "you  here  at  this  hour! 
Has  anything  happened  ?" 

"  Don't  be  alarmed,  my  dear  ;  we  are  all  well  at 
home,  thank  God,"  her  father  said,  dropping  wearily 


190  A  HOUSE   BUILT   UPON  THE   SAND 

into  a  chair.  "  I  am  glad  to  find  you  here,  Aunt 
Hope,  you  and  Grace — brave  women  and  true.  I 
believe  I  am  a  little  tired,  that's  all.  The  way  has 
been  long  and  hard,  but  my  good  name's  safe. 
Yes  :  no  man  can  say  John  Talbot  has  robbed  him 
of  a  dollar.  But  for  your  poor  mother  and  the 
children  I'd  not  mind.  There  is  a  relief  in  all  be 
ing  known  at  last  .  .  .  Talbot  &  Co.  have  to-day 
failed  to  meet  their  obligations,  and — I'd  rather  not 
talk  of  it  just  now  with  Maria  and  Ellinor  and  the 
rest." 

By  the  time  summer  was  fairly  under  way,  the 
old  farm-house  where  Aunt  Hope  had  spent. so 
many  lonely  years  was  alive  with  the  clamor  of 
young  voices.  Its  long-closed  doors  had  opened 
wide  to  receive  John  Talbot's  family,  of  which  the 
younger  members  made  no  scruple  in  declaring 
their  delight  at  the  exchange  of  domicile.  Mrs. 
Talbot  could  not  be  brought  to  think  of  herself 
otherwise  than  as  a  much-injured  woman.  She 
wore  away  the  long  dull  hours  of  country  life  in 
vain  repinings  for  her  lost  estate,  and  her  one 
gleam  of  light  was  the  prospect  of  a  visit  with  her 
daughter  Ellinor  to  Newport  later  in  the  season.  To 
read  in  the  society  journals  of  Ellinor's  appearance 
in  the  Park  or  at  the  races,  or  of  Ellinor's  toilet 
at  ball  or  dinner,  was  the  solace  of  her  present  life. 
Grace  and  her  husband  spent  their  holidays  at 
Hope  Farm,  and  "  the  boys "  rallied  there  from 
school  and  college.  Mr.  Talbot  came  but  seldom, 


A   HOUSE  BUILT  UPON  THE  SAND  19! 

for  a  Sunday,  when  he  could.  He  was  back  again 
at  the  treadmill  round  of  business,  and  through 
the  generous  support  of  his  friends  had  every  pros 
pect  of  renewed  success.  True,  Aunt  Hope,  Grace, 
Edward,  and  the  family  doctor  urged  upon  him  rest ; 
but  the  reproaches  of  his  wife  and  the  goading 
sense  of  responsibility  to  his  children  made  Talbot 
shake  his  head  and  redouble  his  exertions.  For  a 
year  this  state  of  things  went  on,  until  one  day  in 
the  following  June,  Talbot  arrived  at  the  farm  with 
a  look  of  rare  excitement  on  his  pallid  face. 

"  I've  got  the  reins  in  my  hand  again,  Maria," 
he  said  to  his  wife,  before  the  family.  "  Affairs 
are  going  on  better  than  I  dared  to  hope,  and, 
please  God,  before  long  I  can  give  you  all  I  robbed 
you  of." 

"  Father  dear,  how  can  you  ?"  Grace  cried,  cover 
ing  his  trembling  hand  with  kisses  and  with  tears 
— "  you,  who  have  been  so  generous,  so  self-deny 
ing,  so  tender.  Speak  to  him,  mamma,  and  tell 
him  this.  He  wants  it  from  you,  not  me." 

"  Well,  I'm  sure  everybody  knows  how  well  I 
have  borne  this  trial — "  Mrs.  Talbot  began,  but 
was  stopped  by  an  alarmed  gesture  from  Aunt 
Hope.  Grace's  arms  were  around  her  father,  her 
cheek  pressed  to  his.  She  did  not  see  the  strange 
look  that  came  into  his  eyes  as  he  reeled  and  fell 
heavily  to  the  floor.  By  the  time  they  could  lift 
him  to  a  couch  if  was  found  that  life  had  fled. 

As  if  through  a  mockery  of  fate,  the  following 
day  brought  Ellinor  Eliot,  alone  and  unattended, 


IQ2  A  HOUSE   BUILT   UPON   THE  SAND 

to  the  shelter  of  her  aunt's  despised  home.  Dis 
carded  by  her  husband,  and  overshadowed  by  the 
odium  of  a  scandal  with  which  the  newspapers  in 
another  day  would  teem,  she  had  come  to  her  family 
for  shelter. 

"  I  shall  always  think  that  this  misfortune  of  poor 
dear  Ellinor's  would  never  have  come  upon  her," 
said  Mrs.  Talbot,  the  day  after  her  husband  had 
been  laid  to  rest,  "if  John  had  taken  my  advice 
about  allowing  them  enough  to  keep  up  the  posi 
tion  she  had  always  had.  But  there  is  enough  left, 
I  believe,  for  us  to  have  a  house  in  town  next  sea 
son;  and  she,  poor  girl,  will  be  able  to  live  down 
the  consequences  of  her  father's  lack  of  judgment. 
One  comfort  is,  she  is  still  the  most  beautiful  creat 
ure  of  her  set." 

For  some  years  the  little  house  in Place 

continued  to  be,  in  the  eyes  of  two  people  at  least, 
the  centre  of  earthly  sunshine.  Wooed  by  the 
fame  of  its  hospitality,  guests  came  and  came 
again,  to  go  away  singing  the  praises  of  their  hosts. 
When,  at  last,  to  these  young  people  fortune  arrived 
in  a  measure  enabling  them  to  answer  the  demands 
of  a  growing  family  to  widen  the  borders  of  their 
home,  the  change  was  made  with  infinite  reluctance. 

"  One  thing  I  can  say  with  truth,  Aunt  Hope," 
Grace  cried,  impulsively,  when  the  dear  old  lady 
appeared  at  the  christening  of  a  fourth  young  Field 
ing — "that  the  only  tears  Ned  has  brought  to  my 


A   HOUSE   BUILT   UPON   THE   SAND  193 

eyes  since  we  were  married  were  shed  when  he 
drove  me  from  our  first  home." 

Aunt  Hope  smiled,  but  as  she  stooped  to  kiss 
the  baby  a  tear  fell  on  its  face.  She  was  thinking 
of  John  Talbot's  wrecked  happiness,  of  the  mis 
taken  struggle  of  his  life. 


ON   A   HILL-TOP 


ON  A  HILL-TOP 


ONE  afternoon,  in  Central  Park,  when  the  late 
spring  was  making  strenuous  efforts  to  assert 
herself  by  means  of  shivering  green  fringes  hung 
upon  naked  boughs,  and  by  a  tinge  of  red,  like 
a  blush  for  tardiness,  over  the  bushes  of  Pyrns 
japonica,  the  main  drive  offered  the  usual  spec 
tacle  of  pleasure-seekers  on  wheels,  rolling  at  a 
discreet  rate  of  speed  between  Fifty-ninth  Street 
and  One  Hundred  and  Tenth  Street  and  back 
again,  while  keeping  carefully  in  view  each  other's 
equipages,  horses,  grooms,  and  gowns.  Not  so 
brilliant  in  variety  is  this  dress-parade  of  American 
fashion  as  that  familiar  to  the  lounger  in  Hyde  Park 
or  the  Bois  de  Boulogne,  but  sufficiently  gay  and 
changeful  to  enchain  the  watcher's  eye  during  the 
hour  or  two  when  its  glory  is  at  the  height.  Pass 
ing  in  review  the  rapid  succession  of  coaches, 
landaus,  victorias,  broughams,  wagonettes,  T-carts, 
tilburys,  and  village -carts,  sprinkled  with  less  pre 
tending  buggies  and  hansom  cabs,  a  young  man  on 
horseback  kept  his  spirited  steed  in  check,  curveting 
back  and  forth  where  one  of  the  equestrian  roads 


198  ON  A  HILL -TOP 

crosses  the  principal  drive,  until  a  trig  policeman 
began  to  cast  upon  him  side  glances  of  a  decidedly 
investigating  character.  Evidently  the  loiterer's 
wait  was  in  vain,  for  a  look  of  annoyance  came 
upon  his  open  face,  and  giving  his  horse  an  un 
reasonable  cut  with  the  riding-stick,  he  at  last  con 
sented  to  gallop  away  from  the  spot  he  had  so  long 
haunted.  At  that  moment  another  steed,  can 
tering  lightly  along  the  bridle-path,  emerged  from 
the  trees  ahead,  bringing  face  to  face  with  him  a 
pretty  girl  with  golden  hair  and  a  bunch  of  narcis 
sus  in  the  breast  of  her  well-cut  habit. 

''You  told  me  you  were  to  drive  with  your 
mamma !"  abruptly  exclaimed  the  young  gentle 
man  ;  to  which  the  lovely  Amazon  replied,  blushing 
slightly  and  tossing  her  head,  that  she  could  not 
know  she  was  obliged  to  render  an  exact  account 
of  her  doings  to  every  person  with  whom  she  might 
chance  to  dance  at  Mrs.  Gardiner's  ball.  The  groom 
coming  up  at  this  juncture  diverted  conversation 
from  an  apparently  threatening  channel.  In  the 
most  natural  manner  our  young  man's  horse  was 
turned,  and  the  couple  were  soon  making  their 
way  through  the  suburb  on  the  west  side  of  the 
Park,  to  emerge  upon  the  beautiful  Riverside  Drive. 
Here  a  wide  and  admirably  made  road  runs  parallel 
with  the  Hudson,  whose  tranquil  bosom,  skimmed 
by  white-winged  sail-boats  or  scarred  by  bustling 
steamers  along  the  channel,  reflects  the  wood- 
crowned  summits  of  the  Palisades  opposite,  and 
the  colors  of  the  sky. 


ON   A  HILL -TOP  199 

"  To  enjoy  the  Riverside,"  the  young  man  said, 
"  one  should  resemble  the  '  true  love  '  of  the  early 
English  poet,  who  '  looks  not  back,  his  eyes  are 
fixt  afore.'  Let  me  recommend  you  to  impose  a 
forfeit  on  yourself  for  turning  your  head  one  mo 
ment  from  the  left  as  we  follow  up  the  avenue.  In 
this  way  you  may  be  able  to  preserve  the  illusion 
that  you  are  out  of  town." 

"  It's  all  of  a  piece  with  everything  else  here," 
the  girl  answered,  with  a  discontented  glance  at 
the  landscape  on  her  right.  There,  amid  a  curious 
combination  of  squalor  and  ambitious  architecture, 
she  saw  on  the  steep  slope  in  front  of  a  squatter's 
shanty,  in  a  wilderness  of  rubbish  and  tomato  cans, 
two  belligerent  goats  assuming  the  attitude  of  the 
supporters  of  the  British  coat  of  arms.  Beyond  an 
expanse  of  rocky  hill-side,  streets  and  boulevards 
were  in  various  stages  of  construction.  Here  a 
brand-new  feudal  castle,  looking  as  if  it  had  come 
out  of  a  bandbox,  arose  beside  a  whitewashed  cot 
tage  with  dilapidated  roof  and  shutters.  There  a 
smart  Queen  Anne  villa  overtopped  a  road-side 
saloon  for  the  sale  of  beer  to  wayfarers.  Where  a 
glimpse  was  caught  of  the  elevated  railway,  the 
trains  looked  like  caterpillars  crawling  along  an  im 
mensely  high  and  inexplicably  long  bridge.  Gangs 
of  workmen,  steam-drills,  piles  of  sand  and  granite, 
everywhere  obstructed  the  neighboring  streets.  To 
see  what  still  remained  to  be  done  might  have  de 
pressed  the  most  naturally  sanguine  spirit,  save  for 
the  consoling  evidence  of  what  had  been  already 


2OO  ON   A   HILL -TOP 

done  by  the  great  city  spurning  her  island  bound 
aries  in  eager  growth.  To  Miss  Caroline  Heath, 
aged  twenty-one,  recently  returned  from  a  six  years' 
residence  in  Europe,  the  incompleteness  of  Ameri 
can  affairs  in  general  was  a  matter  of  continual 
comment.  Edgar  Barclay,  on  the  contrary,  the  son 
of  a  Western  man,  who  after  making  a  fortune  in 
Cleveland  had  moved  to  New  York  to  spend  it, 
was  a  warm  defender  of  our  peculiar  institutions, 
and,  coming  from  other  lips  than  those  of  the 
present  critic,  would  have  resented  unflattering 
comments  upon  them  with  emphasis. 

"You  are  a  most  unreasonable  person,"  he  an 
swered.  "  A  few  months  ago  you  were  raving  about 
our  '  atmosphere.'  You  declared  yourself  thankful 
to  be  a  native  metropolitan." 

"  Perhaps  that  was  because  I  saw  it  was  the 
only  thing  you  could  not  boast  of,"  she  said,  sau 
cily.  "I  can  imagine  a  Cleveland  man  feeling  quite 
awe-stricken  by  New  York  antiquity.  But  for  me  / 
Have  you  forgotten  that  ever  since  I  was  twelve 
years  old  I've  been  roaming  about  Europe,  ab 
sorbing  by-gones,  living  in  delicious  old  palaces 
where  tragedies  had  taken  place  centuries  before 
I  came  there  ?  Why,  I'm  saturated  with  that  kind 
of  thing — tinged,  like  the  bowl  of  a  pipe.  Think  of 
Florence  and  Venice,  will  you,  and  contrast  them 
with  this.  •  And  then  England !  The  last  house 
mamma  took  there  was  a  lovely  old  grange  sur 
rounded  by  a  dry  moat,  and  by  trees  and  hedges, 
and  turf  so  green  and  soft  and  unbroken  that  it 


ON    A   HILL -TOP  2OI 

made  one  adorably  sleepy  merely  to  stand  at  the 
window  and  look  out." 

"  I  should  prefer  to  keep  awake." 

"Not  if  the  only  amusement  you  had  was  to 
walk  down  pretty  green  lanes,  where  the  trees  met 
overhead,  to  call  upon  the  rector  and  his  wife  or 
the  squire  and  his.  When  that  was  done,  we  waited 
till  they  came  back  to  call  on  us.  I  must  confess, 
it  rained  almost  every  day  last  summer.  But  it 
was  enchanting,  all  the  same." 

"  I  don't  wonder  you  find  the  change  to  New 
York  exhilarating." 

"  That's  just  what  I  complain  of.  I'm  too  much 
exhilarated.  I'm  tired  of  a  champagne  diet.  Be 
sides,  everything  is  brand  new.  The  houses  smell 
of  furniture  polish.  I  want  to  rest  my  eyes  on 
something  belonging  to  the  past." 

They  had  now  turned  into  a  broad  boulevard, 
and  followed  it  to  an  end,  indicated  by  the  pres 
ence  of  workmen  with  their  impedimenta  making  a 
barrier  across  the  road. 

"  Let  us  go  on,"  Carry  urged.  "  Yonder,  on  that 
hill-top,  I  see  a  genuine  old  house— one  that  must 
have  been  there  since  the  Revolution  at  least.  I  am 
determined  to  ride  up  and  have  a  peep  at  it." 

Apparently  uninhabited,  but  with  a  sparse  curl  of 
smoke  issuing  from  the  kitchen  chimney,  the  old 
house  stood  in  melancholy  isolation  upon  a  bluff 
overlooking  the  river.  The  avenue  in  process  of 
construction  beneath  it  had  ruthlessly  shaved  off 
the  near  side  of  the  hill,  leaving  exposed  a  steep 


202  ON  A  HILL -TOP 

and  gravelly  incline  crowned  with  the  straggling 
grasses  of  an  unkempt  lawn.  Around  the  white 
columns  of  the  portico  grew  walnut  and  chestnut 
trees,  and  in  the  garden  at  the  rear  were  seen  a 
ruined  summer-house  and  broken  statues  arising 
amid  an  unpruned  growth  of  box.  Cocking  their 
ears  cautiously  at  the  unusualness  of  the  proceed 
ing,  the  horses  consented  to  be  guided  up  a  precip 
itous  path  along  the  edge  of  the  acclivity.  Barclay 
was  conscious  of  a  feeling  of  relief  when  his  ad 
venturous  young  comrade  had  finally  attained  her 
wish,  and  stood  facing  the  moss-grown  portico. 

"  Nobody  lives  here,  that's  plain,"  said  wilful 
Caroline.  "  Mr.  Barclay,  I  don't  know  what  you 
mean  to  do,  but  I  am  determined  to  explore." 

So  saying,  she  slipped  lightly  from  the  saddle, 
gathered  up  her  jaunty  habit,  and  ran  around 
through  the  weedy  garden  at  the  side.  Barclay, 
consigning  his  horse  also  to  the  groom,  followed 
to  see  her  engaged  in  active  conversation  with  a 
deaf  old  dame  who  emerged  from  a  mouldy  kitchen 
at  the  rear. 

"  She  says  we  can  get  water  from  the  well,  and 
have  leave  to  look  at  this  lovely  river  view,"  cried 
the  explorer.  "It  appears  the  house  is  owned 
by  an  old  maiden  lady,  whose  family  has  always 
lived  here.  If  I  may  trust  to  my  hitherto  infalli 
ble  powers  of  intuition,  the  mistress,  like  the  house, 
is  a  little  out  of  repair  in  her  upper  story,  and  the 
maid  is  afraid  of  her.  Come,  Mr.  Barclay,  grind 
away  at  this  handle.  How  long  is  it  since  I  have 


ON   A   HILL -TOP  203 

had  the  satisfaction  of  drinking  from  the  *  moss- 
covered  bucket  that  hangs  in  the  well  ?'  There, 
that's  deliciously  cold  and  pure.  Do  you  see,  this 
garden  must  have  been  a  stately  one  in  its  prime  ? 
I  wonder  if  the  ancient  dragon  could  be  induced 
to  let  us  have  a  glimpse  of  the  interior  of  the  house  ? 
I'm  positively  wild  to  try." 

Nobody  withstood  Caroline,  so  Barclay  was  not 
particularly  surprised  to  see  her  return  from  a 
second  interview  with  the  old  woman,  beckoning 
him  with  a  mysterious  forefinger. 

"  We're  to  see  the  ground-floor.  It  is  the  hour 
for  Miss  Stillman's  afternoon  nap,  when  she  never 
comes  down-stairs.  Hush !  tread  like  a  burglar, 
and  follow  me." 

In  the  wake  of  the  stolid  guardian  our  two  young 
people  went  from  one  room  to  another,  filled  with 
handsome  furniture  of  the  patterns  peculiar  to  a 
century  ago.  Fluted  fire-boards,  stiff  chairs,  con 
vex  mirrors,  black-framed  mezzotints,  knobs  of  brass 
or  crystal,  held  their  own,  their  sway  undisputed  by 
the  appendages  of  modern  luxury  as  seen  every 
where  to-day.  It  was  in  the  best  parlor  that  their 
guide  came  to  a  halt,  waving  her  withered  hand 
with  a  faint  show  of  pride  in  its  faded  splendor. 

"That's  all  there  is  to  it,"  she  said,  in  a  croak 
ing  voice.  "  I  guess  them  things  is  solid." 

"  Either  I  am  dreaming  or  that  portrait  of  the 
lady  in  the  red  frock  with  balloon  sleeves  resem 
bles  you"  Caroline  suddenly  exclaimed,  turning 
upon  Barclay  an  astonished  gaze.  "  She  is  enough 


204  ON   A   HILL -TOP 

like  you  to  be  your — what  ?"  She  paused,  puzzled 
by  the  date. 

"My  great -grandmother,  great  aunt — what  you 
will,"  said  Barclay,  laughing.  "  I  wish  I  were 
lucky  enough  to  be  able  to  lay  claim  to  her,  but, 
unfortunately,  if  we  have  any  ancestral  respecta 
bilities  of  this  kind  in  the  East,  I  have  yet  to  be 
informed  of  it.  My  mother,  who  died  in  my  child 
hood,  was  born  in  the  West,  and  my  father  is  a 
Westerner,  root  and  branch." 

"The  likeness  is  astonishing,"  pursued  Caroline  ; 
and  even  the  purblind  eyes  of  the  old  woman  lighted 
with  something  like  assent. 

"  She  'ain't  no  one  belongin'  to  her  I  ever  heerd 
of,"  went  on  the  old  creature,  pointing  upward  with 
her  thumb.  "  The  last  on  'em  to  die  was  Miss 
Tabitha,  and  she's  Miss  Lois.  They  was  great 
folks  once,  I've  heerd  tell,  but  that  was  before  I 
came  here.  She  was  pinchin'  poor  till  the  city  tuk 
the  place  to  run  a  road  through,  an'  now  they  say 
there's  a  fortin  in  the  bank  for  her.  She  don't 
spend  none  of  it,  sartin  sure.  The  two  of  us  don't 
eat  more'n'd  keep  a  mouse  from  starvin',  an'  there 
ain't  nobody  else." 

"  I  breathe  freer,"  Caroline  said,  when,  after  pre 
senting  a  gratuity  to  their  guide,  the  two  mounted 
again  and  rode  out  of  the  enclosure.  "  After  all,  I 
like  the  sunshine  best.  But  I  wish  I  had  seen  the 
queer  old  lady ;  and  as  to  that  portrait,  it  was 
simply  your  double,  deny  it  as  you  may." 

"  I  am  more  occupied  in  wondering  if  I  can  get 


ON   A  HILL -TOP  205 

my  horse  by  that  steam-drill  down  yonder,"  Edgar 
said.  "  He  has  a  rooted  objection  to  anything  of 
the  kind,  and  this  path  does  not  offer  much  room 
for  antics  on  his  part.  Your  gray  is  quiet,  Miss 
Heath ;  you  had  better  wait  here,  and  let  me  lead 
the  way." 

Hardly  had  he  spoken  when  the  engine  beneath 
them  sent  forth  a  sudden  rush  of  hissing  steam. 
Caroline  repressed  an  exclamation  of  alarm.  Bar 
clay's  horse,  rearing  violently,  grazed  the  edge  of 
the  steep  declivity,  then  set  off  at  a  run.  Half-way 
to  the  bottom  he  slipped,  his  rider  falling  over  his 
head,  the  horse  rolling  completely  over,  and  re 
covering  himself  to  stand  shivering  with  terror  be 
side  Barclay's  prostrate  form.  Before  a  number  of 
men  from  the  gang  at  work  below  could  reach  him 
Caroline  was  at  his  side,  the  groom  following. 
Barclay,  catching  one  glimpse  of  her  agonized  face, 
bent  over  him,  tried  to  speak  reassuringly,  but 
fainted  in  the  effort.  Without  consulting  the  young 
lady,  the  men  ran  up  to  the  house  upon  the  hill, 
returning  with  a  shutter,  upon  which  they  carried 
the  injured  man  gently  along  the  path  he  had  just 
descended,  laying  him  down  without  interference 
from  its  guardian  in  the  dim  old  parlor  immedi 
ately  beneath  the  portrait  of  the  lady  with  the  bal 
loon  sleeves.  The  bustle  of  their  entrance  stirred 
from  her  solitude  up-stairs  the  other  dweller  in  this 
silent  mansion.  Gliding  down  like  a  wraith  came 
a  tall  woman,  with  melancholy  eyes  and  chill  lips 
that  seemingly  had  never  known  a  smile. 


2O6  ON  A   HILL -TOP 

"  Open  the  window  and  give  him  air,"  cried 
Caroline,  unheeding  the  approach  of  the  mistress 
of  the  house. 

"  Who  gives  orders  for  me  ?"  she  said,  in  a  mo 
notonous  voice.  "  It  is  years  since  those  front  win 
dows  have  been  opened." 

"  It  is  a  matter  of  life  and  death,"  answered  the 
girl,  imperiously;  and  without  further  opposition 
the  stiff  blinds  were  thrown  back,  letting  in  a  flood 
of  afternoon  sunlight  that  flowed  in  a  golden  stream 
across  the  sufferer's  temporary  couch.  Barclay's 
face  thus  revealed  to  view,  was  untouched  by  wound 
or  stain.  He  seemed  quietly  asleep. 

"  If  a  doctor  would  only  come !"  began  Caro 
line,  interlacing  her  cold  hands.  There  was  an 
interruption  to  the  quiet  of  the  room,  a  strange 
sound,  half  sob,  half  laughter,  coming  from  the 
mistress  of  the  house.  Caroline  looked  up  to  see 
the  old  woman  kneeling  at  Barclay's  side,  her  dull 
eyes  kindled  into  a  sudden  rapture  of  recognition. 

"It  is  Margaret's  child.  I  knew  I  should  see 
one  of  them  before  I  die.  Oh,  my  poor  wronged 
sister !  After  so  many  years  !  Thank  God !  thank 
God !" 

"  You'd  better  coax  the  old  lady  to  go  up-stairs 
again,"  said  one  of  the  workmen  to  the  servant, 
touching  his  forehead  significantly.  It  was  evident 
that  all  present  agreed  in  his  estimate  of  her  men 
tal  equilibrium.  But  until  the  arrival  of  a  doctor 
from  the  neighborhood  the  gray  old  woman  held 
the  unconscious  sufferer's  hand  in  hers,  from  time 


ON   A  HILL -TOP  2o; 

to  time  fondling  it  against  her  cheek,  and  crooning 
over  it  words  of  tenderness.  When  the  surgeon 
came  Caroline,  passing  an  arm  around  her  shoul 
ders,  led  Miss  Lois  from  the  room. 

An  hour  later  Edgar's  father  and  step -mother 
answered  the  summons  sent  them  by  telephone  in 
the  neighborhood,  arriving  to  swell  the  anxious  lit 
tle  group  waiting  in  the  dusky  hall  outside  the 
sick-room.  Edgar  had  returned  to  consciousness, 
but  the  injury  to  his  leg  was  exquisitely  painful, 
requiring  nicest  treatment.  Until  the  arrival  of 
Mr.  Barclay's  family  physician,  the  doctor  in  charge 
refused  to  take  the  responsibility  of  sanctioning 
the  removal  of  his  patient.  The  distressed  father 
walked  to  and  fro  in  moody  silence,  and,  when  twi 
light  brought  Dr.  Gray,  urged  him  to  say  that  Ed 
gar  might  be  carried  in  an  ambulance  to  his  home. 

"On  no  account,"  said  the  doctor.  "I  can't 
imagine  anything  more  foolish.  Unless  these  peo 
ple  positively  turn  you  out,  he  should  stay  here. 
His  situation  is  extremely  critical.  I  cannot  answer 
for  the  consequences  of  change." 

"  Here,  in  this  old  rattle-trap,  with  a  mad  woman 
for  a  keeper?"  the  impatient  father  wanted  to  say, 
but  he  substituted  for  it  the  milder  suggestion  that 
they  had  no  claim  upon  the  owner  of  the  house. 

"  The  child  of  Margaret  Lothrop  has  every  claim 
upon  his  great- aunt,"  said  the  same  hollow  voice 
that  had  startled  all  a  little  while  before.  At  his 
elbow  stood  Miss  Loi's  Stillman,  holding  in  her 


208  ON   A  HILL -TOP 

hand  a  faded  daguerrotype  at  which  Mr.  Barclay 
glanced,  astonished. 

"  This !"  he  exclaimed,  looking  from  it  to  her 
again — "  This  picture  my  poor  wife  had  taken  long 
ago,  to  send  east  at  her  mother's  dying  request  to 
Mrs.  Lothrop's  sisters,  who  had  cast  her  off  for 
marrying  to  suit  herself.  But  she  never  heard  from 
them.  They  never  softened.  They  let  their  niece 
die  as  they  had  let  her  mother,  without  a  token  of 
forgiveness.  If  you,  madam,  are,  as  I  suppose,  one 
of  those  Miss  Stillmans,  you  will  understand  that 
I  have  a  reason  the  more  for  removing  my  unfortu 
nate  boy  from  the  shelter  of  your  roof." 

"  Oh,  have  pity !"  cried  the  old  woman,  pleading 
ly.  "Don't  force  me  to  bring  charges  against  the 
dead.  It  was  Tabitha's  will.  Tabitha  always  had 
her  way  with  me.  I — loved — poor — Margaret — 
dearly.  Don't  take  her  grandson  from  me  now." 

And  thus  it  was  that,  by  a  strange  guidance  of 
fate's  leading-strings,  Margaret  Lothrop's  grandson 
was  brought  into  intimate  relation  with  his  sole 
surviving  relative  upon  his  mother's  side — one  who 
through  half  a  century  of  alienation  and  of  silence 
had  brooded  over  the  image  of  her  best -loved 
sister  with  ever-increasing  intensity.  Between  the 
handsome  lad  who  for  days  lay  there  beneath  his 
grandmother's  portrait,  uncertain  whether  death  or 
life  would  claim  him  as  a  prize,  and  the  pallid 
shade  of  once  beautiful  Lois  Stillman,  Caroline 
Heath  was  the  link  of  warm  humanity. 


ON  A   HILL -TOP  209 

Until  the  young  man's  extremity  had  given  place 
to  the  joyful  promise  of  convalescence,  Carry  and 
her  mother,  who  blamed  her  child's  heedless  impet 
uosity  for  the  accident,  made  frequent  pilgrimages 
to  the  hill -top.  Then  Carry's  visits  ceased  alto 
gether,  until  one  afternoon,  when  June  had  clothed 
the  old  brown  house  with  roses,  she  accepted  a  be 
seeching  invitation  from  the  invalid  to  have  a  cup 
of  tea  with  Aunt  Lois  and  himself.  She  found 
them  in  the  well -remembered  parlor,  sitting  hand 
in  hand,  but  by-and-by  Aunt  Lois  arose  and  stole 
away.  Soon  she  came  back,  bearing  an  antique 
string  of  pearls. 

"These  were  intended  for  our  Margaret  when 
she  went  away  to  be  married  against  our  will,"  the 
old  lady  said,  solemnly.  "  Through  poverty  and 
sorrow  I  have  kept  them,  hoping  that  some  day 
one  of  Margaret's  granddaughters  would  come  back 
to  receive  them  at  my  hands.  Now  that  Edgar  is 
to  have  all  the  rest,  I  want  Caroline  to  wear  them 
as  a  token  of  my  love  and  gratitude." 

"  You  are  giving  them  to  Margaret's  grand 
daughter,  after  all,  Aunt  Lois,"  the  young  man 
said,  triumphantly.  And  then  for  the  first  time  in 
many  a  long  year,  tears  came  into  Miss  Stillman's 
eyes,  but  they  were  tears  of  happiness. 


THE   END. 


BY  MRS.  BURTON  HARBISON. 


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RODMAN  THE  KEEPER.     16mo,  Cloth,  $1  00. 


There  is  a  certain  bright  cheerfulness  in  Miss  Woolson's  writing 
which  invests  all  her  characters  with  lovable  qualities.—  Jewish  Advo 
cate,  N.  Y. 

Miss  Woolsou  is  among  our  few  successful  writers  of  interesting 
magazine  stories,  and  her  skill  and  power  are  perceptible  in  the  de 
lineation  of  her  heroines  no  less  than  in  the  suggestive  pictures  of 
local  life.— Jewish  Messenger,  N.  Y. 

Constance  Feuimore  Woolsou  may  easily  become  the  novelist  lau 
reate — Boston  Globe. 

Miss  Woolson  has  a  graceful  fancy,  a  ready  wit,  a  polished  style,  and 
conspicuous  dramatic  power ;  while  her  skill  in  the  development  of  a 
story  is  very  remarkable.— London  Life. 

Miss  Woolsou  never  once  follows  the  beaten  track  of  the  orthodox 
novelist,  but  strikes  a  new  and  richly-loaded  vein,  which  so  far  is  all 
her  own  ;  and  thus  we  feel,  ou  reading  one  of  her  works,  a  fresh  sen 
sation,  and  we  put  down  the  book  with  a  sigh  to  think  our  pleasant 
task  of  reading  it  is  finished.  The  author's  lines  must  have  fallen  to 
her  in  very  pleasant  places ;  or  she  has,  perhaps,  within  herself  the 
wealth  of  womanly  love  and  tenderness  she  pours  so  freely  into  all 
she  writes.  Such  books  as  hers  do  much  to  elevate  the  moral  tone  of 
the  day— a  quality  sadly  wanting  in  novels  of  the  lime.  — Whitehall 
Review,  London. 

PUBLISHED  BY  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  NEW  YORK. 

J8®="  The  above  ivorks  sent  by  mail,  postage  prepaid,  to  any  part  of  the 
United  States,  Canada,  or  Mexico,  on  receipt  of  the  price. 


SEVEN   DREAMERS. 

A  Collection  of  Seven  Stories.    By  ANNIE  TRUMBULL 
SLOSSON.     pp.  286.     Post  8vo,  Cloth,  Ornamental, 

$1  25. 

A  charming  collection  of  character  sketches  and  stories 
—humorous,  pathetic,  and  romantic— of  New  England 
country  life.  The  volume  includes  "How  Faith  Came 
and  Went,"  "Botany  Bay,"  "Aunt  Randy,"  "Fishin' 
Jimmy,"  " Butterneggs,"  "Deacon  Pheby's  Selfish  Nat- 
ur',"  and  "  A  Speakin'  Ghost." 


They  are  of  the  best  sort  of  "  dialect "  stones,  full  of  humor 
and  quaint  conceits.  Gathered  in  a  volume,  with  a  frontispiece 
which  is  a  wonderful  character  sketch,  they  make  one  of  the 
best  contributions  to  the  light  literature  of  this  season. — Ob 
server,  N.  Y. 

Stories  told  with  much  skill,  tenderness,  and  kindliness,  so 
much  so  that  the  reader  is  drawn  powerfully  towards  the  poor 
subjects  of  them,  and  soon  learns  to  join  the  author  in  looking 
behind  their  peculiarities  and  recognizing  special  spiritual  gifts 
in  them. — N.  Y.  Tribune. 

These  stones  are  of  such  originality,  abounding  in  deep  pa 
thos  and  tenderness,  that  one  finds  himself  in  perfect  accord 
with  the  writer  as  he  reads  of  the  hallucinations  of  these  he 
roes. —  Watchman,  Boston. 

Dreamers  of  a  singular  kind,  they  affect  us  like  the  inhabit 
ants  of  allegories — a  walk  of  literary  art  in  which  we  have  had 
no  master  since  the  pen  dropped  from  the  faint  and  feeble  fin 
gers  of  Hawthorne,  and  which  seems  native  to  Mrs.  Slosson. — 
N.  Y.  Mail  and  Express. 

The  sweetness,  the  spiciness,  the  aromatic  taste  of  the  forest 
has  crept  into  these  tales. — Philadelphia  Ledger. 


PUBLISHED  BY  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  NEW  YORK. 

$&-The  above  icork  will  be  sent  by  mail,  postage  prepaid,  to  any  part 
of  the  United  States,  Canada,  or  Mexico,  on  receipt  of  the  price. 


BY  MARY  E.  WILKINS. 


A  NEW  ENGLAND  NUN,  and  Other  Stories.     16mo, 
Cloth,  Ornamental,  $1  25. 


A   HUMBLE    ROMANCE,  and    Other    Stories.     16mo, 
Cloth,  Extra,  $1  25. 


Only  an  artistic  hand  could  have  written  these  stories,  and  they  will 
make  delightful  reading. — Evangelist,  N.  Y. 

The  simplicity,  purity,  and  quaintness  of  these  stories  set  them  apart 
in  a  niche  of  distinction  where  they  have  no  rivals. — Literary  World, 
Boston. 

The  reader  who  buys  this  book  and  reads  it  will  find  treble  his  money's 
worth  in  every  one  of  the  delightful  stories. — Chicago  Journal. 

Miss  Wilkins  is  a  writer  who  has  a  gift  for  the  rare  art  of  creating  the 
short  story  which  shall  be  a  character  study  and  a  bit  of  graphic  picturing 
in  one  ;  and  all  who  enjoy  the  bright  and  fascinating  short  story  will  wel 
come  this  volume. — Boston  Traveller. 

The  author  has  the  unusual  gift  of  writing  a  short  story  which  is  com 
plete  in  itself,  having  a  real  beginning,  a  middle,  and  an  end.  The  volume 
is  an  excellent  one. — Observer,  N.  Y. 

A  gallery  of  striking  studies  in  the  humblest  quarters  of  American 
country  life.  No  one  has  dealt  with  this  kind  of  life  better  than  Miss 
Wilkins.  Nowhere  are  there  to  be  found  such  faithful,  delicately  drawn, 
sympathetic,  tenderly  humorous  pictures. — N.  Y.  Tribune. 

The  charm  of  Miss  Wilkins's  stories  is  in  her  intimate  acquaintance 
and  comprehension  of  humble  life,  and  the  sweet  human  interest  sho 
feels  and  makes  her  readers  partake  of,  in  the  simple,  common,  homely 
people  she  draws.  —Springfield  Republican. 

There  is  no  attempt  at  fine  writing  or  structural  effect,  but  the  tender 
treatment  of  the  sympathies,  emotions,  and  passions  of  no  very  extraor 
dinary  people  gives  to  these  little  stories  a  pathos  and  human  feeling  quite 
their  own. — N.  Y.  Commercial  Advertiser. 

The  author  has  given  us  studies  from  real  life  which  must  be  the  result 
of  a  lifetime  of  patient,  sympathetic  observation.  ...  No  one  has  done 
the  same  kind  of  work  so  lovingly  and  so  well. — Christian  Register, 
Boston. 

PUBLISHED  BY  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  NEW  YORK. 

ti^-The  above  works  sent  by  mail,  postage  prepaid,  to  any  part  of  the 
United  States,  Canada,  or  Mexico,  on  receipt  of  the  price. 


YB  75634 


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THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


